A Glance Through The Hourglass
by Lightcloaked
Summary: An elaborative continuity of the FMA manga universe, focussing on character development, an original plot that expands on the back-story of alchemy and the true nature of Father, Truth and the Gate. Even as the threat to Amestris resolves, a darker force looms in the corner. Will Ed find the truth behind Truth? What of our favourite characters, how have their futures been decided?
1. Chapter 1

**AND SO IT BEGINS. The spinning of an epic yarn which will explore the integrity, strengths and pitfalls of all of our beloved characters in an original storyline that I'm hoping will add a unique depth to the outstanding series. Fundamentally, this fan-fiction will expand upon the futures of a grand plethora of characters, from the manga and a few original creations as well. It will follow a complex plot structure that includes diverging and converging plot-lines that include a series of characters: for example relationship exploring plots, culture-exploring plots, action-expanding plots etc. There will be a central plot line that will prove to be the focus of this work- however it shall not be drummed from the start, instead will be directed into chapters at my liberty. The main point, I reiterate, is to explore characters and relationships in a psychoanalytic and sentimental introspective that really digs deep into their mental scarring and fallibility. The central plot is however still strident and will expand upon the nature of alchemy, the creation of Father and the Homunculi, the very races of the mentioned countries in the manga and a few other unmentionable new entries here and there that will expand upon the 'alchemical plight'.**

**Firstly I must mention, my writing style focusses on rich imagery and structural flow. There will be a usage of quite a bit of recurrent symbolism. plot devices and other such fun literature stuff to develop a solid contextual setting for the characters to play around it. One thing I do focus on is exhibiting the characters' thoughts- therefore I used the stream of consciousness technique to construct a more subjective context-dependent reality. I blend around both internal context and external context to create this sort of transpersonal exaggerated environment that at times is far too surreal to be considered...well...real.**

**Secondly, the structural layout of this work is a bit different. It's arranged into Chapter episodes compilations. Each episode is representative of a particular scene and the main point why it's labelled as such is because it, quite simply, allows me to play around with the atmosphere, tonality and literary techniques used in each episode. This fan-fiction is meant to establish a pseudo-reality, therefore dramatic aberrations in pace and completely deviating outlooks are a given- the labelling of episodes will allow easier transitions. Again, my despised literary style.**

**Note: The first chapter has not been completely edited, I say while I shudder at my laziness, so there could be a few errors here and there that I may have either not spotted or chose to ignore. This story also follows the end of the manga- situated right around the time after Edward 'proposes', for a lack of a better term, to Winry. Since we start off from that point, it only seems fitting to elaborate on the EdWin mush. Egad, I talk too much- enjoy the first chapter folks!**

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**Chapter 1: Unbecoming **

_**Episode-I**_

The scent of aged manuscript thickened the stillborn air, flourishing under the sombre ambience of the dimly lit labyrinth of halls, eliciting a curious sensation of arid warmth that no doubt proved most infuriating for those very few that inhabited a sanctuary of that which solely remained for keepsakes. It could not be classified as anything but a receptacle of past unforgotten memories, doomed to rot to undeath- for none wished to lay mind to substance that had long since lost essence to simply dwell in feeble existence. Only the accompaniment of a repetitious shuffle of footsteps added any dimensionality, proffered by a few aging souls who diligently sustained the unnerving stagnation of the place- their sounds so similar and timely that they dwindled into the deathly silence, so very quiet and yet profound in simultaneity.

There would be little to mention of this place, were it not for the youthful lad whose stature was shadowed by a pile of books that was on the teetering edge of collapse. Words of an unknown origin reflected in his eyes- gleaming off their lustrous golden hue; words so weighty… and yet unsubstantial- told by the likes of sophist men who gratuitously scribed their ignorance of matters for fear of public appraisal. Volumes of data scorched silvery scintillations into his irises, flecks of hollow metallic shavings casting blemishes onto the pools of molten gold. He grew irritated, flustered at the growing futility of his cause. Glistening beads of sweat trailed along the sharp angular contours of his countenance, shadowed by dampened platinum blonde bangs that rapidly ensued to be dull and ragged from the permeating lifelessness of the surroundings.

A growing tremble in his features…stemming discomfort to be emboldened into rage as his frustration took hold.

His fists rammed onto the shuddering table, the mound of books lackadaisically toppling to the floor in an unceremonious fashion. He was unmindful of the fact that he had cracked a deep fissure into the disquieting quietude. He was unmindful of the elder men staring disgruntledly at him for his belligerent behaviour, although they did at some entrenched level welcome the newfound dynamic in their feeble existences. He was unmindful of the detail that the very air within the room had alchemised into lurching butter- thick, saturated and incredibly hard to stomach. He only responded to his deepest set emotions, the boiling turmoil of fury and frustration at months of failing to divulge even a morsel of information true to his search.

The very same statements flashed across his eyes, each a paraphrase of the other, each hopelessly unoriginal and circular. He recalled the little he had learned on his travels through the Western countries…

"_Alchemy. The primary science that had circulated from systematic observation of the material world. It holds great promise in its ability to manipulate the very atomic fabric of matter so that various forms could be transmuted out of another- involving steps of comprehension, decomposition and assembly. Its roots are said to be unclear, and are theorized to be stemmed from natural sources within the Earth. Ancient alchemists have believed that all forms of alchemy stem from an original alchemical art that has been lost from our understanding through the aeons of time. It is said that this ancient art comprised of every elemental principle that allowed for the reconstitution of matter forms by the utilization of energetic macrosystems. Indeed, it is believed that ancient alchemy could bypass the principles of equivalent exchange and natural providence. For the time being however, it is far beyond our own understanding as humans…"_

That ungainly piece of knowledge had been restated unfailingly in alternate syntaxes in all literature that he had looked upon during his visit to the western countries. Initially, the idea of overstepping the very pedestal that alchemy stood upon had him ecstatic. It would have been a considerable breakthrough for every nation if they could master an art whose potential they had barely scratched upon. However after combing through hundreds of journals, scriptures and manuscripts- all circling around the very same mulberry bush- his excitement muddled to annoyance, then to fury as it quickly became apparent to him that the western alchemists had no idea what they were going on about. About halfway through his deciphering, it crossed upon him that he could have been chasing a very possible conspiratorial hoax. He chose to dismiss this highly realistic possibility, much to his scientific chagrin; which chose to differentiate itself from his present consciousness, preferring to mock him for slithering down the likes of impulsive sentimentality. He couldn't fathom what they were talking about, and he doubted that they could either. They talked of an original alchemical art; he reasoned the illogicality of an alchemical form that had escaped the eye of countless national scholars- surely a few would have taken notice and scribed a development so profound. His mind swept to other conclusions: They couldn't have been talking about Xerxesian alchemy- they surely had not advanced to such a stage that they could override the principle of Equivalent Exchange. Even if they had, his father would have surely said some mention of it. If not him, certainly _Father_ would have shown an appearance of it.

He had had enough. No matter his prodigal ability of focus onto the most convoluted subject matter possible, it was he who would be the idiot if he chased after a lead so obviously fabricated and mended by the pitiful rants of tired old men who had written a paragraph's worth in a damning epic. He slammed his head onto the barely steadying table.

"Why did I ever come here?" he moaned self-loathingly, banging and clenching his fists synchronously for good measure. He sighed protractedly, the hot air gusting from his mouth bounding off the sandpaper-like surface to warm his already broiling visage. He tilted his head sideways, the seated old men had readily lost interest in him and had returned to their pedantry- mopping dust off covers and pages and breathing them in miserably.

He forced his thoughts to drift away; his vision gradually clouding as he silvered out the living unmemorable cemetery. His hands drooped to his sides, his right leafing through his greyed jacket to rummage through a few trinkets. He grimaced when two of his digits were immediately pricked by needle-like objects that hungrily drew blood, snapping him out of his daze. He grappled them cautiously in his palm and drew them out, greeted by the sight of two silver earrings bejewelled with sapphire stones.

He stared at them, "Even while you're not here you can still manage to bleed me dry, huh?" He chuckled at his wit, casting longing gazes at the lustrous blue sapphire stones that reminded him so much of her own pair. He twirled them playfully, recalling the time when he had gifted them to her as a bribe for the security of his own life. She had enacted a pretence of begrudging acceptance in response, although there was no doubt in either of their minds of how the gesture had truly affected her.

How long had it been since he had seen her? Been in her presence? Watched that saccharine smile dance across her face and shatter his defences?

Was it two months?

Three perhaps? Maybe longer.

Was it fair for him to make this trip and leave her be for such an elongated time? Was it fair for him to be neglected of her presence? More critically, was it fair to skip off on a journey to far off nations after he, for a matter-of-fact, had proposed to her?

His thoughts drifted as he recalled that day…

"_Equivalent Exchange! I'll give you half of my life so you give me half of yours!" he frenetically yelled as his scarlet face became progressively more so._

_She stared at him perplexedly, internal switchboards clocking off data signals as they struggled to piece in the undulating blonde man's dramatic nonsensical outburst. Her countenance registered no trace of shock, happiness, nor of scoff; merely one of utter bemusement as the emanated embarrassment from her childhood friend radiated through the cool summer breeze, targeting her, only to be ricocheted back to him by her polarized flabbergast. _

_When it hit her…_

"_Idiot…" _

He smiled in reminiscence, playing back her explicit remonstration of what she considered to be the worst proposal ever proffered, with little restraint on the description of his idiocy in the matter. Although, he would always consider the highlight of the event the point at which she plainly stated that she would give him all of her life- no scratch that, 85%; as if the percentile mattered.

And how, you may ask, had he had taken care of a precarious situation that had warranted for delicacy? Why, he had sealed an outrageous commitment between two individuals within the domain of a reciprocal gesture of camaraderie and a verbal promise to kindle their relationship when he would return. Nothing marked or worthy of remembrance- but one that was apt enough to be able to rapidly disseminate into the void of attempts that had failed to be realized into concrete actions. After all, words only carried insofar as the wind allowed them to, such was the fallibility of the spoken word; to convey the deepest most reverent sentiments that a person could divulge, whilst being placed at the mercy of uncontrollable, inescapable media. Could the wind really have carried that the sentiments that he voiced that day? Had he made himself perfectly clear of his affections for her? Or had he confused her more so than he did himself?

What was this feeling that was crippling him? Making jelly of his insides; instilling a sensation of self-doubt that he had never before proven to be a sufferer of. Something that was drawing a dagger through his innards, turning them to mush- attesting to be only further painful when attempting to pull out.

Dread, was it?

Dread of something in particular, something so wholly irrational and emotional that its cancerous growth only strengthened the more sustenance he delivered upon it with his defeatist musings.

It was so very warm in here…

His head bent down, he did not notice a figure striding over to him- or the faint shadow of a flickered eyelid adsorbing the pitiful sight in front of it.

The figure stopped a few feet short of him, hovering decisively in the background. Her sultry voice rung out in a series of strident unmelodious tones, mandated by an alien accent that supressed her aitches and had perfectly rolled r's bouncing off her tongue.

"You're not from around 'ere, are you guvnor?" she uttered the question matter-of-factly.

Momentarily put at unease with such an uncharacteristic outburst, the young blonde pulled himself upright and narrowed his eyes at her- taking in the sight of the intruder with a greater than mild interest.

He noticed her to be not a whole let elder than he was- perhaps a couple of years more than his own age by his conjecture. She was as far off put from the natives as he was, with her dark caramelised skin and fissure-deep dark brown eyes. Her physique was one of a toned athlete's: muscular and lean with an upright posture that hinted tremendously at her physical strength and dexterity. As she sashayed across the floor and came to a halt in near distance of him, he observed that her mannerisms were akin with that of a feline- spirited, graceful and lithe- but swift to be lethal and surreptitious if a provocation was ever raised.

He snorted, "You're one to talk,"

"Aye, I guess we both stick out like a pair of sore thumbs, don't we?" she grinned mischievously, placing one hand on her hip and tilting forward to take a closer look at him- her fiery breath brushing against his face as her lungs expanded and contracted powerfully- calling attention to her heaving chest as it violently fought against the bare top that hugged her upper silhouette.

He found her to be a curious specimen; an unabashed brusque one who was unafraid to be blunt with the strangest of strangers. She was more animalistic than human, primal- sodden with dark exotic features and expressions that spelled intrigue to the most hardened of men. It was her eyes that caught him off-guard however. There was a certain manic within those unending brown abysses that seemed to drag on forever, extending an ensorcelling insanity that enthralled the observer to such a magnitude that he would find himself eager to be caught in the gravid storm that lay inherent to her depths; unmindful of the true calamity that the tempestuous whirls, revolving around the calmest point, posed.

She continued grinning at him, enjoying the quiet game of staring back and forth.

"You don't look like the type to shuffle through all this drivel. Definitely not the type," she snickered coyly as she fixed a contrast between the golden eyed blond haired youth in front of her and the greyed out dowdy old men who sat cowered from the glare of the sun.

"Got a death wish guvnor?"

"Hmm?" he replied bemusedly, unsure of how to handle the sharp-tongued eccentric wildling that appeared to be determined not to leave him be. He couldn't quite mask out the true expression behind her leering smirk, only that it seemed to not be unkind, if a tad jeering at his own expense.

She dropped her gaze from him to the mound of fallen books that lay plopped sporadically across the table. She drummed her fingers lightly, crooking over to take quick scans of the titles and prefaces of the tattered collections that looked greatly more despoiled in their current condition than in their previous- if such a state was even possible.

"You're an alchemist," she stated suddenly- watching the lad with a newfound interest.

"Was," he commented without further elaboration. He twiddled the thumbs of his flesh right and left hands- sighing with an awry sound that was all too familiar of self-pity.

"Even better," she purred, more to herself than to him in particular. She grabbed a chair across from him and twirled it around adroitly in nimble cat-like motions. She sat herself down and laid her head on her forearms, bangs of chestnut brown hair trailing down her temple.

"If you're looking for secret alchemical trades within these rolls of waffle, I'm afraid you're either incredibly short-sighted or just plain over-optimistic," she stated bluntly, shaking her tresses off her temple whilst fixating her piercing gaze onto him. "Well come on then. Which one are you?" she barked jeeringly.

Her coarse voice caught him off-guard again and he scowled at her. "Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot. It's not like I can go back empty-handed after all this effort struggling with this garbage," he growled testily as he motioned to the junk pile.

"So you're a journeyman then," she smiled, not at all placed at unease by his irate behaviour. "From where do you 'ail from then, fair traveller?"

"Amestris," he replied nonchalantly. He prepared to unseat himself, deciding to mosey over from this female before she really started to foul his mood.

She slammed her palm down on his wrist- holding him in place- much to his chagrin. Her skin was especially warm though coarse with a few scars and callouses here and there.

"No way!" she exclaimed excitedly. "An Amestrian alchemist," saying it in such a manner as if they were considered to be a glaring rarity. She bent even closer to him, "You wouldn't happen to be the Fullmetal Alchemist Edward Elric?"

She didn't let up the opportunity to even answer, leading the conversation through her own dominion. "But you are," she beamed gleefully.

She pounced upwards swifter than the eye could discern and dusted herself off with deliberate deft motions. The dangerous twinkle of mania in her eyes brightened greater which couldn't help but unnerve Edward as the abysses became startlingly deep and hollow.

"Well this changes things doesn't it? Your trip might have not been a complete waste of time, Fullmetal Alchemist," she grinned, an untold secret dancing across her eyes.

He was unsure of how to respond, taken back at the rapidity of the shift of events that spotlighted on this one very mysterious and bizarre woman who, by his guess, would appear more at home to be with a pack of primeval chimera. It wasn't that she was the only white tiger in the cage, she was the whole damn zoo- but he thought it a testament to her queer eccentricities that she was bound to hold information that would prove crucial to his cause even if she was one of the strangest bag of tricks that he had ever set his sight upon. He wasn't a man that believed in faith, divine intervention or any other misnomer of deity-bound influence. Likewise he wasn't a man who suffered from self-doubt, thereby yielding him the ability to place trust in his intuition and admire the gripping power of circumstance on effecting an outcome whenever it had arisen.

He sighed begrudgingly, "I hope I'm not going to regret this,"

She flashed him a playful smile, "Oh I can't guarantee that what you're about to see is what you seek. But as far regret comes in, I have no doubt that my little bauble right here will have you peaked for a couple of raring weeks,"

She clapped her hands together and twirled on her toes to turn a full semicircle. She walked off a bit- back facing him- and clicked her tongue, "Come on then. No time's as good as the present," she stated cheerily.

He watched after her as she strutted across the damp oak floorboard- hips swaying slightly- albeit without conscious motive. He reckoned it to be just another one of her quirks. He stood himself up to full height, watching her turn around and hiss at him to get moving.

"I know I'm going to regret this…"

_**Episode-II**_

They walked together in silence for the time being as flickering candlelight above illuminated the wearisome halls with ill-concerted effort- casting gloomy shadows on the pair below as they marched deeper into the bowels of the antediluvian gluttonous colossus who had lost much of his insatiability in deference to his own recognition of the futility of his existence. His thirst no longer extant and his insatiability downed to a mirthless ennui, he was resigned to forego the fruits of his existence to only bear watch to see whether he would stand the test of time.

The chandeliers overhead, once so ornate and encrusted with golden leaves, had been diminished to pale silvered imitations of their past selves- stained with globules of aged grey candlewax that further despoiled the once held illusion of grandeur. The point to be stated- the illusion of grandeur- was critical for one fundamental cue; it wasn't that the site was straying from the truth- it was rather the opposite. Flakes of passable gold only held esteem for as long as their façade offered before being grazed upon by the true aweing apotheosis of the Sun. The incursion of the wrath of ages soon followed when an entity dared to presume that it was consubstantial with it, a fate which this profane dwelling would prolong to suffer for the continuum of its existence.

She sneaked a glance at her steadfast companion as he trotted along stonily- eyes directly forward and focussed with a linear perspective that resolved at the end of this one penultimate journey towards unknown parts.

Or so he thought.

She noted his physical appearance: his slightly tall muscular build accompanied by an upright ramrod bearing that spelled out much of his arrogance; his strong well-toned appendages, the flesh ones anyway, showcased the noticeable flexes and bulges of his muscles as his gait transpired smoothly across the creaking floorboard- each step accentuating their mechanical movements. She was surprised of the stark efficiency with which his metallic limb caught up to the flesh one. She made a mental note to check up Amestrian automail in the future.

Tired of the listless silence between the two of them- she spoke up rather loudly, "I must say Edward. You are not as short as they make you out in the tales,"

She could see that this singular statement had conceived a crack in his dense armour as he froze in place and whipped his head around with supersonic speed. The irk in his expression and the twitch in his eyebrow was oh so amusing to her and she had to stifle a grin as his face flushed scarlet, his pupils dilated, and the molten gold of his eyes effervesced.

"Who the hell are you calling short, woman," he bellowed vexingly. His thunderous voice echoed across the dwelling- making itself clear to plausibly everyone within a kilometre radius of the place.

"No one in particular," she responded back with a trace of satirical cheek. "I was just making the point across that I did not think of you as short as…"

Her words were cut short as his mien contorted to a snarl and his voice boomed once again, ever more loudly.

"I AM NOT SHORT!"

His yell might have well resounded through the entire continent for its ear-piercing amplitude that would have surely deafened her had she not clapped two hands tightly over her poor anguished ears.

'_Temper tantrum,'_ she thought to herself. _'So the stories of his Napoleon complex were right. I best not instigate him any further if I want to keep my hearing past twenty-two,'_

She warily surveyed him as he gradually mellowed down over time- looking somewhat apologetic for his disgraceful manner.

"Done?" she asked coolly.

His eyes caught hers- scorching her with the intense flames laying within the own depths of his molten irises.

He grumbled, ignoring her and returning to the steady pace of his brisk walk- for all appearances detached from the world.

'_I'll remember not to push your buttons next time,'_ "Immature brat," she muttered.

"What was that?" he catechised testily, on the verge of suffering a relapse.

She flushed, "Nothing, nothing," and quickened her pace to meet his- walking in silence, if only for a moment.

"So what secrets are hidden in this tome of yours?" he queried calmly.

She smiled, "Ones that could redefine the science of alchemy completely,"

He grew cross with her non-answer, "Such as?" he gritted his teeth.

She laughed at his ire, "I'm sorry if I'm, to keep it short, running around the bush- but you have to understand that much of your nation's understanding of alchemy is limited to a grand oversimplification of a process that is inherently more complex and multifaceted than it seems,"

Her condescending textbook answer rang through his ears- but elaborated nothing further than depositions analogous to apocryphal postulations. He thought that she sounded much too similar like one of those damned books- voicing rants burgeoned by the ramblings of old men talking of unfound virtual enigmas. It was a practise that he was all too aware of now; it was ubiquitous among people who were either ignorant or fearful of the truth. They bequeathed a word for it, sophistry: Employing fallacious arguments to benefit one's plausibility of a premise- a specious premise ordained by a specious argument. Used by those as a resort when either ignominy or awe: awe in that of the archaic sense, was a prognosticative factor. He wondered which category she belonged to.

Now that he had thought of it, her entire process seemed all the well too rehearsed- as if she were following a script leading towards a contrived despicable outcome. He best keep wary of her, unknowing of what her true agenda was in the matter of things.

"An example would be in your description of the alchemical process of transmutation," she interjected abruptly. "You describe the process as beginning with the understanding of a substance's inherent composition, then the destruction of that substance's material bonds, and lastly the reconstruction of that very same substance into an allotropic form of its original constituents. However, you miss one critical step that predates even the comprehension of the matter's molecular nature. That is key towards unlocking the original secrets of alchemy, and bypassing the Principle of Equivalence Exchange and the Principle of Natural Providence,"

He was hit with a drift of unease, shaken by the woman's sudden dramatic shift in temperament. Why did she sound so perfunctory all of a sudden? There was no trace of that original pronounced accent that had proven so agitating for him. It was as if her entire character had been pushed to the side-track for another to place itself in the pilot's seat. Her mentality had been substituted with this taciturn pedantic scientist-guise that was as far removed from her previous playful persona as a wrench and a torque wrench were two unique contraptions. He shuddered at this comparison, he was starting to think along the same lines as her.

She reeked of uncertainty and inconsistency and it only urged a feeling of utter eeriness. He thought the feeling evoked similar to the sensation when one dips their ankle into illusive shallow water, only to have it submerged to the calf with a depth that was concealed with a subtle trick of the light- passing surprise; but a frightful unease for as slight as a sliver of a moment. He thought of the queer eccentricity of observation, of how fruitless and superficial physicality was. There was always something much greater eclipsed within the depths; always granting that renowned dread of the unknown that was alien to solely those who had passed through the dusk's veil.

He mused over her declaration. If what she stated was accurate, it could spell abundant potential for the advancement of the alchemical process. He rationalized that if alchemists had conveniently skipped past the very foundation towards activation the transmutation process, surely paying heed and suiting it to their needs would allow the development of parallel practises of alchemy to be consequent. The incorporation of the compendium of these practises could lead to the conception of an archetypal alchemic form. The implications were dazzling, yet surreal. Surely affairs could not be sorted this feasibly, there was a hidden intangible thread entangled somewhere in that mass of fabric- perhaps it was known to her but she chose to stay her tongue for reasons concealed to him. Moreover, he couldn't help but feel that something was awry with this woman's intentions. There was definitely an off-key characteristic about her.

"Say lady. Where did you say you were from?" Edward asked with a pretence of minimal interest.

She frowned, "I didn't. But I hail from Britagnia,"

His suspicion was now definitely aroused. He scoffed at the notion that she was Britagnese. He had perused the geography of the far western nation of Britagnia- in preparations for his travel- and knew for a fact that she shared no common features with its natives; they were a people who shared a common consistency of a strikingly white complexion and chiselled somewhat aristocratic features. Apart from that frustrating accent- which had shiftily enough faded as of now- the woman was more dissimilar to a Britagnese than he himself was.

He glanced once more at his female companion as she glided across the flooring, noting the smooth shade of brown that draped her body. Her visage showed more curved, rounder features than the strikingly sharp, angular ones characteristic to the Britagnese folk. Her eyes were lofty, large… a little too feline; that unnerved him.

She turned around to face him and grinned- that wide coy smirk splayed on her face- making an abrupt reappearance with little consciousness of the lapse of its non-existence.

"You're well too awfully interested in alchemy, aren't you guvnor?" He shuddered at the return of that exasperating manner of speech- honestly, who the hell can talk to these people besides their own?

"If you're that intrigued…the two of us can always mosey over to my place where we can discuss in length all sorts of alchemical… matter," she suggested coquettishly.

He didn't even get a chance to consider her enticing suggestion, for the faint ghosting pain of a wrench laying its mark upon his forehead had already inundated its thoughts- leaving her remark to trail out the other ear.

He shuddered visibly- causing a frown to appear on the woman who obviously had never been faced with such an outright flat rejection. Her reasoning could only lead to a singular track. _'Perhaps the lad doesn't swing the right way,'_ she thought amusedly.

"Nice of you to offer, but I'd like my head to be screwed on the right way when I go back," was all he blurted out in retort- the echoes of previous thuds all too memorable.

She squealed, "What's this? You 'ave a lady friend back 'ome, Eddie," No doubt this had peaked her interest like delectable bait does to a fish's. Hooked on and unwilling to relent- the outlandish woman strode sideways closer to Edward- not making a smidgeon of an effort to mask her interest.

"She sounds like the jealous type, this lady of yours," she grinned, thoroughly enjoying an additional opportunity to get a dig in her stoic shallow companion.

He snorted, "She's no lady," His face darkened as swift recollections of himself cowering before her came to light in a blurring daze of Technicolor art frames. Overhead, a defective chandelier acted as a strobe, flashing transient impulses of light that cast fantastic flickering sensations that reflected in his dimmed golden eyes with an accelerating frequency.

He grumbled ominously, "She's a goddamn machine freak, an automail otaku with a ridiculous temper, a dangerous wrench and a deadly throwing arm..."

"And you love her," she interpolated, her expression changing suddenly- accomplishing in abruptly cutting him off in mid-sentence.

His feet stooped to a stop, his tirade at an end. The flickering lights in his eyes mellowed then stayed, reverting to brandish their customary spheres of molten gold.

His expression softened. "And I love her," he agreed with a gentle smile.

With the impudent turbulence in his orbs tapered, he gave off an appearance of serene compassion- albeit still with a tepid blaze sauntering in his midst. She thought she found it far too easy to appreciate how a woman could sheathe her defences from him once the hard-headed brash guise had retreated enough to unveil an innate prominently fiercer humanity that could strike a chord within the most obstinate of battle-hardened veterans. It honed onto her that it was precisely this characteristic that had bestowed him with the mantle of the Fullmetal Alchemist, she thought- well aware of the corniness of her reverie.

"So what's the story behind you two," she asked sweetly. "Providing you tell me 'er name first,"

He was a trifle annoyed with her cheeky inquisitiveness, but chose to answer since his mood had lightened and the woman didn't seem as agitating as before.

"Winry. Winry Rockbell," he replied after a moment's hesitation- her name momentarily triggering a lapse of a ghost of her scent in the immediate surroundings. "We kind of grew up together,"

She squealed, he still could not begin to get accustomed to that shrill screech, "How utterly sweet. The pair of you were childhood sweethearts," she paused- envisaging such a lavish pail of saccharinity that just about stemmed the mother lode of clichés. "Sounds just about the plot of a daily paperback novel," she cooed not unkindly.

He snorted disdainfully, marking his affirmation with her comment rather transparent.

He felt like he was in a talking mood- so he continued, "Things didn't turn out like a storybook though. We happened to lose both our parents and wound up under the same roof as the same family," he uttered bitterly.

"Not so sweet," she replied sympathetically. "Although with a touch of incest. Makes it a tad zesty don't you think?"

He ignored her, quickening his pace and finding much interest in an off-kilter wooden bookcase that looked a bit alienated from the rest.

She sighed, "So how far 'ave you gotten along with 'er?"

His pace slackened, momentarily befuddled with the abstruse query. When he glanced back at her, noting her larky grin- his confusion mingled with a slight uneasiness.

"I'm asking you of far along the ropes you've climbed with this sweetheart of yours. Surely you've spent up a storm over the creases with this girl?"

Noting his expression only further burgeoning into utter flabbergast, she laughed mirthfully- taking great delight in the woeful innocence of her inexperienced comrade.

She guffawed unrestrainedly- stomach retching in indulging aches as he struggled to prevent her lunch from topping up- unmindful of Edward's kindled irk as she took pleasure in chastising him over his naivety.

"Oh I'm terribly sorry but the tale you're spinning is so much like the facetious fibs of a daily paperback that it could only be considered the truth," She grimaced as her insides knotted up at one particularly wrenched chortle.

His eyes darkened. He mumbled a few incoherent threats and huffed- striding steadily ahead as he left the cackling girl to her own devices- retching in place with her body seizing violently.

"Egad," she sighed, rubbing her weary belly fruitlessly- aware that this stinging ache was but only penance for appreciating far too much pleasure of her companion's (queer was the sole moniker that came to mind) predicament. She dusted herself off with sweeps of her left hand whilst straightening her unkempt mass of hair as a glimmer of a smirk remained plastered on her face. Spotting the increasing distance between Edward and herself, she scrimmaged to her feet and caught up to him swiftly with a modicum of effort. Rooting to a halt facing the back of him- she pivoted around him in a perfect 180, in a supple twirl resemblant to that of a ballerina, and met him face up- garnering them both to a hasty standstill.

He scowled at her, unwilling to pit himself further within her claws for the sake of her entertainment. As he made a motion to brush her away, she skilfully evaded him and re-enacted her previous trick with considerably more ease.

"Now now, let's not play this game where you chuck your frustrations onto me guvnor. I don't play that easy," she chided playfully.

He made no response other than to stare her down with his blazing golden orbs- mind temporarily at a loss as to how to resolve this situation.

"I find it 'ard to believe that you've made no physical move onto a woman you are presumably in love with. The only excuse I can come up is that you are too drawn up thinking of her as a mere sister," she stated plainly- finding herself to be formidably blunt with him all of a sudden.

His unchanged expression was followed by no disturbance, so she assumed that he had relented for the time being.

Her lips twinkled mischievously, "You guvnor, have a common problem which can be simply explained by the slurred words of the idiot drunkards in the bars back in my 'ome country,"

Deciding to play the role accurately, she played on a dim-witted sodden male visage and plastered a giddy smile from ear to ear.

"But uh bro," she articulated with a low-key barely intelligible voice that she thought impersonated the scatter-brained idiots spot on. "She's…uh…well, like mah sister," she finished, the final syllable unduly exaggerated.

Her subsequent words took on a strikingly zealous tonality.

"That's your problem isn't it? Like the rest of those idiots, you're too afraid to even fathom a reality in which you've developed a powerful attraction for a woman who you've grown up with and treated and thought of as a sister. You still think of the two of you as having shared a prosaic familial bond when the truth is that your feelings for her have matured to become incessantly more passionate and dark. You, like the rest of them, thrive on consistency: on what feels safe and tangible and sturdy- ignoring the presence of a tie that is infinitely stronger, that can only bring you bliss or torment depending on whether you choose to accept it or not," she paused for a moment as she bared a contorted snarl with her pupils dilated to a superhuman degree. Edward's face showed traces of loss of control and shock at this brusque confrontation- once again feeling that same unease at an even more prominent drastic shift of temperament.

Her voice barely shook, void of any trepidation and arrogantly self-assured. The modulation of her personality was so greatly salient and so greatly protuberant that it well enough be conceived that her heartstring* were reverberating at a different frequency- so pronounced was the change.

"You admitted explicitly that you had romantic feelings for Winry, yet you display very little regard for clarifying them forthright. How on Earth can you say that you love her romantically if you display no outright level of physical attraction for her? What is romantic attraction without the attraction bit? Just a descriptor with a zeroed meaning. I don't know if you find it emboldening to believe in an innocent love or if you can't drag yourself to change your impression of her- regardless of what your heartstring yearns for you to say. Whatever your sentiment may be, accept the fact that passion, romantic love is not separate from physical attraction. The two are not mutually exclusive, rather they rely on each other. You are learned of what the truth is and yet you suffer trepidation like a coward before it with an irrational fear of a known unknown…"

He snapped, unable to endure having his courage and pride being ransacked by a stranger, who for some inane reason, believed that she could brutishly intrude upon his personal affairs as if she knew him for all the years of his present existence. Who the hell was she to assume that she could play dice with his life? What gave her the right to indulge herself in his problems? He was utterly infuriated, capsized with such an intense surge of rage that he felt himself blinded from a blaring irradiance that was omnidirectional in nature- originating from everywhere and nowhere in particular. He had just a fractional ounce of remnant restraint and could feel the bubbling rage rise, fall and circulate in his body with vigorous convection.

"Who the hell are you to say how I feel!" he blasted utterly enraged. His countenance contorted to an effect that the contours of his face sharpened to create an illusionary effect of carnal animalistic definition.

"I'm not ignorant of how I feel about Winry. I don't pretend to think that I care about her just as a sister. Not anymore!" he yelled, a threatening edge to his voice as he crept ever closer to the object of his wrath- his fists clenched in eager await.

"Who are you to condemn the feelings of others? As if you can redefine what it means to be in love with someone! As if you are such an expert to be able to say that you know what love is, idiot!" he castigated cruelly.

He was now a mere few inches away from her. They were in place face-to-face, breath countering off each other, presence armed against presence. Two poles, two polarities creating a wracking disturbance in the immediate vicinity. His of pure unadulterated anger offsetting against hers of pure elemental reason. A field of such magnitude that the light in the very room acted to gravitate to the pivotal balance point of the pair.

She was unfazed by his animosity, showcasing an expression of terrific impassivity. "You say you love her. But I wonder; have you shown it to her?" she catechised coldly. "Have you kissed her? Felt the moist tenderness of her lips and the sweet warmth of her breath," she queried coolly. "Have you truly embraced her? Felt the soft silky smoothness of her cheeks, her unique fragrance- a blend of aromatic esters and perfumed floras," she inquired dispassionately. "Have you experienced her? Explored the feminine curves of her form and drunk in her bodily spirit," she quizzed placidly.

"Have you at all thought of her as a woman? Have you loved her in the veritable sense so as to desire her entirety? Not only her soul and mind, but her body as well?"

"Have you heard of the gospel of love singing through your ears? That which asks for you to feel compassion and passion for your opposite number. To love her- in the emotional, rational and spiritual discipline; to lust after her- in the carnal, sensual and indulgent sense," she quirked an eyebrow at him apathetically.

The swirling congestion of questions were beginning to dismay his anger- for the first time instilling uncertainty in his assertions. Could it be that the crazed woman was right? That he was dispatching his true emotions to some far corner of his mind- only to have some fallible superficial replicas ruminate at the front of his consciousness. Had it never occurred to him to think of Winry as a woman in all earnest? To the deranged wildling's approximation, did he only show love for a part of Winry and not her entirety? Was love really that quizzical? Was it that its purity was established by considering every element of the whole- even those that were deniably in the same virtuousness as the rest?

He contemplated Winry Rockbell. He envisaged the entirety of her form: her physicality, spirit and mind. He thought of her mentality and emotions, her inklings and dispositions, her likes and dislikes, her faith and quirks. He thought of her form- her body.

He consciously began to traverse through the forbidden seldom accessed regions of his mind. He observed stills of her: envisioning her plenitude of smooth, graceful curves; her angelic pulchritude and countenance; her flush ivory skin; her sensuous voluptuous figure that carried with it an overwhelming allure; the swell of her well-endowed chest- recalling the time at which he was able to peruse a glimpse at their aspect in a hastily blissful moment; the hourglass curvature of her waist; the enticing roundness of her rear; the exquisiteness, curvaceousness and definition of her miles of legs. He started to perspire, feel the onset of a weighty redness and a powerful state of arousal that was tampering with his cognizance- sensory overkill was it? Far too much information to be processed in such a minute lapse of time. Pretty soon he was going to get a nosebleed.

No. That couldn't be it. Sure, he didn't consider her in that fashion as much as he ought to; but that was only for the lack of time and the immediacy and the clustering of events in the past few years. He was preoccupied, could he chalk it up to that notch? If so, then why was he yet to be liberated from his vocation? What was still holding him in place, fixating him to the past and its fading sentiments?

His thoughts drifted him back to reality when it crossed upon him that the woman had inched up to him even closer, her impassive gaze perlustrating him with him impeccable scrutiny. Her mien had taken a strange appearance- manifesting from a resonating curiosity that had displaced the icy apathy that had cloistered her.

She bit her lip, "But that's not the complete story. There's something else within you that is striking you at unease- preventing you from realizing your true desires. Something much more dark and virulent- as if you were strapped by tendrils of pure shadow," she stated musingly. She paused for a moment, watching him strangely, "When was the last time you contacted her?" she probed- not talked or chatted but contacted.

He heard her question echoingly, still afflicted with a lessened anger- yet struck with an inhibiting discordance that caused him just enough susceptibility to render him incapable of exhibiting ignorance and falsehood.

His mouth spoke of its own accord, "When I proposed to her," was all he answered.

She peered at him from far beyond his line of focus. The subtle becoming of an epiphany fostered a slant in her temperament. Her eyes returned to her customary deep brown fissures, displaying just enough of a trace of emotion. "What is it that you really dread Edward Elric?" she wondered aloud.

His bearing slackened- his eyes trembled at the notion that his constructed worries had become all the more real all of a sudden. The glaring bloom soon mellowed into the surrounding's ambience; yet he still found himself paling cognizance, a weighty shadow obscuring truths in such a manner that they had escaped the shackling radiant intensity.

He chose not to voice his fears or remark upon the situation, silently walking past her and towards their destination. He only knew that he had to confront the light of the tunnel for it held matter that would alienate him from this icy reality. They continued to walk in silence- neither of the pair taking heed of the other's existence, both lost in thoughts, to make a finer point- suffering, from the damp coldness of blunt truisms.

It seemed to be a small amount of time that had lapsed, yet it felt as if hours had passed. He begin to lose grasp of the pathway he was travelling through, unsure of this tunnel existed at all- or was a transpersonal manifestation of his own insecurities; a reservoir whose depth never seemed to cease.

Somewhere in the insurmountable distance a book tumbled off a crumbling shelf- echoing a soft thud that snapped them both to attention. It contrasted so greatly with the tattered surroundings- looking relatively nouveau and pristine in comparison with its fine leathered hardback and laced spine. He dismissed it immediately, uncaring to garner interest at something that appeared so trivial and pedestrian to him.

The other, however, shuffled over to it- huddling over to scoop up the work gently in her palms. She fingered the cover affectionately, noting the eloquent insignia embroidered in centre cover. It depicted a man and a woman, dressed in themselves and nothing further, entangled with each other- almost as if they comprised the same unit. Tenacious vines enveloped them, self-originating and representing a true circular infinity, embroiling their forms together whilst shelling them from the outside world- pencilled in by the greyed lunar orb cast in their exterior.

She placed it firmly back in its receptacle- choosing not to let go as she sighed wistfully.

"It's a tragic thing isn't it?" she asked softly. He craned his head to look at her and quirked a puzzled eyebrow. "Falling in love," she elaborated- her eyes twinkling with faint mirth. "Falling is the key word there isn't it? One has to drop himself down to the other's level to be unified with that person. It's almost as if you have to amount to her or him, sounds so dreadfully limiting," she remarked with a tepid chuckle.

She tilted her head and smiled gently- grappling onto the book just a little bit more firmly. "Then again I suppose; it's not really a bad thing 'mm?"

It took him awhile to register the significance of those words. For in parallel, he was momentarily baffled at the woman being able to read him so clearly, as if he were as transparent as a glass window. He barely had any time to voice a remark, bluntly interjected by a delighted shriek.

"We're 'ere!" she exclaimed perkily, sprinting up to an inconspicuous bookcase that held no remarkable value in the sea of its equals. He moseyed over to her, arching an eyebrow as she ran her fingers across a bottom compartment and tapped in places here and there with deliberate pursuit. He leaned against the bookcase and drummed his fingers lightly against the dirt-soaked volumes- failing to be occupied at the point of being granted treasure after a laborious hunt.

They both heard a click. She squealed, quickly sweeping away a replaceable plank that concealed a single leather-bound volume. Very little could be made out from the cover, apart from the presence of a few inscribed runes, to his guess: although they looked more like chicken scratches than mystical inscriptions encapsulating arcane secrets of an unknown time.

"Do you see it?" she asked with remarkable quietude- for a person like herself anyway. He huddled over next to her, frowning when the non-existent artefact excluding itself from his sight.

"Here," she motioned, angling the tome directly to the light.

He saw it now, but it ensued no recollection.

An insignia of a twisted serpentine dragon-like creature glimmered, its composition akin to pure lustrous gold, hued with a silvery blurred glow that outlined its edges. Its lightly shaded golden eyes stared defiantly at him, holding within something that positively _gleamed_ of the divine- or at least the preternatural.

"The answers you seek are in this tome," she stated flatly- scrutinizing his reaction as she ran her index finger across the spine smoothly. "However, your journey shall not end with this, far from it actually. You may across a time when you will regret having your palms graze the writings of those whose names are rightfully forgotten for the sake of the world," her voice was grave, her head bowed down as if to convey respects to some unseen foreign presence.

He considered this. "What does it actually say about the ancient practitioners of alchemy? What did they know that we missed out?" he asked urgently- hoping for answers that would reject the possibility that this was a grand hoax.

She lifted her gaze to match his, watching him reproachfully. "Don't think that what's held in here is all one giant fabrication. This account is an amalgamation of old and new; of unknown, forgotten and unforgotten. The ancient ones…" she paused- clenching her fists. "They were not of the realm of mere men. They knew things which normal men cannot comprehend without guidance. They knew of existence, divinity, God, truth and spirituality. They knew that alchemy wasn't as mysterious and profound as it seemed- that is merely obeyed some of the foremost laws of nature," she caught her breath.

"It was their knowledge that proved to send them to their doom. This is why we do not know or hear of them. Even the select few who have- chose to keep the newfound knowledge till their deaths. If it is known without boundaries, people would use it malignantly without constraint- damning the world with them. I feel that you can perhaps be the lighthouse that will bring back what was forgotten, Fullmetal Alchemist," she finished imperiously as she held out the book for his retrieval.

Her words struck him terrifically, though he couldn't help but doubt the integrity of her hyperbolic declaration. Surely what was held in here would not to such an extent divert the course of mankind! The idea was simply outright laughable. Nonetheless he would take caution with the alleged secrets contained within this tome. If anything that posed for great worry came up- he would choose not to disclose it. But really, knowledge within this tome that could reshape the mould of mankind's course? It hardly seemed pliable that it would have escaped the minds of centuries of scholars. On the other hand, her manner of delivery and safekeeping of the tome assured him that there was something ground-breaking in here. Her last declaration echoed through his ears. If she thought him to be the lighthouse that would deliver- the just but forgotten memoirs of an unknown race- to the ships passing through his port, he would gladly fulfil that role.

He carefully removed it from her hands and held it gently- fingering the serpentine emblem that promised fruitfulness to his, until this moment, fruitless journey.

"Promise me one thing guvnor," she said suddenly, squaring up at him with an intense expression. "Call the woman you love, idiot. Before you really mess things up,"

Edward smiled, it was sometime since he was scolded in such a manner. It brought back not truly unpleasant memories. "I will," he promised.

_**Episode-III**_

He stood in line, perlustrating through the pages of his newly obtained tome- noting the obscure encryption with which the knowledge within was masterfully concealed. It would take him quite a while to peruse the volume for thematic devices that could explain the book's encryption mechanism- after which he would have to cipher through the foreboding breadth and width of this thickly endowed volume. It invocated equal measures of exhilaration and gloom.

He caught quaint whispers of Cretian men and women chatting to their recipients in their brash tongue. How striking a comparison it offered with the Britagnese woman's dialect? How dissimilar their tongues were to his? He thought of truly how ignorant to the world he was by relenting to stay in Amestris. The myriad of cultures that just this corner of the vast world offered was terrifying by itself. He could not imagine the experiences of seasoned worldly travellers who had voyaged to all four corners.

He glanced at a Cretian man in front of him- his sturdy gaze fixated decisively ahead. His olive skin, steel jaw, black hair and sharp cut of his face spelled much of the unique traditional features of the Cretian race. The little time which Edward had spent within the country had been enough to admire the distinctiveness of its people situated in this Mediterranean locale. Their warmth, rich cultural diversity, vibrant city life and bountiful delicacies guaranteed that he would once more invade on the hospitability of this sunlit nation. He still found it hard to get past his newfound food craze- a dish of bread layered with tomatoes and oregano served with goat cheese and a thick garbanzo paste. It was close as it was ever going to get to taste like heaven- the true contender for that privilege resided in Amestris. He had to get someone in his native land to prepare it for him, perhaps Winry could…

The steel-jawed man in front of him had replaced the phone's receiver- grumbling incoherently with a few choice indigenous swear words that Edward had zoned on in his travels- sometimes from first-hand experience, much to his own chagrin.

He strolled over to the front of the queue and dialled in the operator's number swiftly, placing the brass-embellished receiver on his ear and tapping his foot impatiently as the familiar dial tone sounded in his ear.

"Operator here," came the droll of a middle-aged Cretian man. "Who're you calling today, friend?"

He licked his lips, "Could you redirect this call to the Amestrian switchboard please?"

The buzzing of static electricity rang, followed by a few more of those insufferable dial tones. He drummed his fingers across the receiver, echoing brassy plunks that reverberated through his skull.

"You've reached Amestris. To whom is this call directed to?" came the all too familiar twang of a youthful sounding Amestrian woman, one of his own countrymen.

He would tell the operator to contact the Rockbell residence, wait for those few more insufferable seconds until that sweet blissful voice of hers would sound through that receiver. No doubt she would incur her wrath on him for a much more elongated lapse of time than as of previously- that much was justly deserved- but he could feasibly pass through that wracking bane, it wasn't for a lack of experience after all. When she would mellow, he would zealously voice the extent by which he had missed her, of how much he looked forward to kindling their relationship, to clear out the momentarily standing doubts, fears and misconceptions that were clinging onto him. He would hear of how she had engaged herself and she would hear of how his endeavours. There was so much he desired to tell her, such a great deal that he wanted to straighten out. It came to mind that he had never actually uttered his love for her. Would he be able to do it over the phone? He hoped so. He did not want to stimulate the gravidity of any further reservations. He would once more stipulate their exchange those three months ago, he would tell her that he was ready to spend his life with her, to solemnize the onset of their becoming.

Yet his lips dried…yet not a sound emanated from his larynx.

"Hello sir?" she catechised rather irritably. "To whom is this call directed to?" she repeated.

He licked his lips and closed the distance between the receiver and his mouth. His mouth opened groggily, a few beads of sweat forming on his brow, a subtle tremor forming in his hands. A few more seconds lapsed and the tremor only resonated further- travelling down his arms virulently.

"Hello sir?" she repeated- fabricating no attempt to control her ire at this point. "To whom…"

He replaced the receiver. The sound of a muffled thud reverberated through the still air.

He turned around slowly, his heart thumping frantically and all his wits screaming at him for his cowardice.

He left the queue.

_**Episode-IV**_

His head was rested against a hardback acting as a cushion to the brittle sandpapered surface of the table. He slept noiselessly, unmindful of the pedantry of the muffled shuffling of the caretakers in perpetual motion. A few of the elder denizens looked on disapprovingly as he took upon their hallowed domain as a simple resting place, almost as if he were mocking their diligent studies.

His sleep however was not sound, invaded by the unkempt sentiments he had rammed deep into the inner midst of his subconscious- only to have them surface in his dreams as a tormenting penance for his controversion. He moaned softly, his expression clad of regret and dread. His cheek brushed against the serpentine insignia of the tome that he had laid his head upon. A stack of transcripts sat adjacent to the tome: longwinded scribbled incantations, intricate runic formations and complex mathematical formularies inundated its pages- scrawled upon with furious resolve.

The serpentine dragon shone onwards in the dim light of the austere library. Its golden eyes still sparking defiance, yet at a loss as to what rested within the blackness of its surrounding depths.

* * *

**And there we have the first chapter. Hope a few of you found it amiable enough. If any of you consider it to be capable of merit to any degree- I will continue resignedly. If it turns out to be bat guano- like I imagine- than it shall end as another of my futile efforts.**

**P.S There is an anachronism hidden somewhere in the passage. Ten points to anyone who finds it.**

**Oh yes, the chapter:**

**Much of the sentiments display in this chapter revolved around my idea of how the mental scarring from the events in the manga would impact on Edward. He has obviously lost a great deal and has displayed a hardheaded demeanour- but cannot be impervious to mental cracking. I thought it would be prudent to input this sort of manic dread within him, one that impregnates a fear that he will screw everything up. That's the baseline idea of the Edward-Winry angle. The other idea is the personification of love- yes it's not the traditional pure gospel that we'd liken to think of. I thought that the entire idea of love is to be enthralled with another's entirety- to feel desire for each substantiate element that comprise that person. Else what would be the difference between familial and romantic love? They both include compassion- only one holds passion which is greatly more darker, lurid and tantalising- he says with a shudder.**

**There are also a few symbols here and there that I mean to establish as recurrent thematic devices- I'll keep them unmentionable for now. Some of you may have noticed the reversal of the conventional connotations of light-darkness/warmth-cold; that is something I've gotten from one of my foreign literature books, that light can be crippling with his ardent radiance whereas the shadows can be soft and comforting. Other than that, I hope you enjoyed the deep psychosomatic analysis into young Edward's mind. I hope this work is to be continued onwards, it is quite an ambitious undertaking- by default and for me.**

**Until next time.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Unkempt Liaisons**

_**Episode-I**_

Much as he pleaded experience to his travelling along the cast iron rails of the unstoppable carriages of tempered whistle-blowers…the act was yet to fail to instil a sense of unholstered rapture that cleaved onto him as if he were a lightweight combat automail entrenched within the bunkers of Rush Valley. He supposed that it had arisen from the nonattendance of the dilapidating pestilence that is stagnation: to be drilled within an earthen fissure that passed feigning ignorance to the vibrant tectonics of the mortal Earth was a cruel fate indeed. In his mind, the equation was obdurate and clarified: Life rivals kinesis and death approximates stagnation. To be stagnant is to suffer a premature death at your own hands- the foulest sort of suicide from his objectivity.

He whistled distractedly as his gaze traversed across the steadily flowing montage of stills of the Cretian countryside. The coarse granite that grated its mountains and the savannah shrub that foiled its landscape was a testament to the arid tepidity of the uncaring Mediterranean climate that basked under the broil of the yellow Sun. It splashed a unique medley of brownish and green hues that scattered in vagrant measure across cliff and valley, much as a young river meandered throughways within the alternating layering of hard and soft rock to widen its course for the fruition of the both of them. He spotted one two gazes stead north. Its course was emblazoned intricately across a mountain's visage, ostentatiously showcasing signs of its embarrassing age as wrinkled rock formations splayed here and there- unmindful of the ragged nudity of the mountain's crevices. It fruitlessly attempted to shadow them via a raw-cheeked redness of ferrous oxides and other such by-products of waning immortality.

His eyes drew from the rugged attractiveness of Creta. He paused his glance over the collection of his notes that would soon enough prove to be either herald or pallbearer of its worth. He leaned forward against the plush maroon leather of the seating of his compartment, flicking through the vigorously dotted annotations of the aged tome for the umpteenth time, each instance discovering that he was yet to wholly uncover the true significance of a find that was introduced in intrigue and checked over with awe.

The screeching cry of an infant commandeered his attention, snapping him to reality in an instant so minuscule that he was momentarily struck with a likening sensation of whiplash. Wailing, crying or sobbing of any kind had unfailingly brought a virulent unease within him, sprayed on with a tinge of annoyance for good measure. He closed his eyes in an attempt to drone out the high-pitched wail of the infant- only to have his throbbing eardrums be bombarded with another cacophonous reoccurrence.

The softly cooing drawl of a youngish-sounding man interrupted the steady bout of crying, spoken in an inflection so sickeningly babyish that it may have well been uttered from the puerile larynx of the newly awakened hatchling. "Aw, is little Jackers scared of the itty bitty train? You don't need to fret when you got your big strong daddy here,"

Edward couldn't help but smile at the efforts of the doting father in calming his young son: Jack was that his name? It reminded him a great deal of another certain someone who had never shaved off the moment to converse endlessly in an infantile manner when surrounded by his beloved daughter, not at all abashed to forthrightly trumpet his sentiments to others within earshot in his direct vicinity.

The baby giggled from the compartment adjacent to his. Another feminine-sounding chuckle accompanied the greatly more infantile one, only for a clamour of fatherly, motherly and childish chortles to resonate amidst the others. It was the purest and most chaste of nature's own symphonies- the glees of familial members pitching against each other- each playing a part in an orchestrated compendium to ensonify an environ devoid of mirth. The vibrato bass and deep drummed timbre sounded by the percussive beats of the pater. The soft lucid strumming of the mater's soprano harp- the exposition. The tremolo treble ringing of minimalistic arpeggio spurred by the assonance of the newfound progeny. The totality of all these elements culminated with each other to establish a spirited counterpoint that may have along belonged alongside the epics of the early baroque masterpieces of the diligent first maestros. It failed to compare with the original masterworks in terms of complexity, design and aesthetic, yet it was unrivalled in the raw emotive spirit that proved unmatchable and unmarketable by any artificiality.

He added his own throaty chuckle to theirs, feeling a resplendent marvel in a phenomenon he considered one of the simplest of its peers. Families attributed little attention to a happening they considered all the more normal and taken for granted- that was key. He, however, could not possibly fail to value the utter significance of a parent-child moment, even as one as simple as a shared chuckle, now that he could never experience it with his own pater and mater. It was a simple notion after all. Trivialities were made trivial purely because of their ubiquity. Once the rarity of a triviality had set in, its value would increase markedly. Slaves cherish freedom for their lack of it. Normal folk who were blessed with liberty dismissed appreciating it outright. Fundamental human nature dictated the privation of consideration for the ever-present; else there would be a copious amount to appreciate, and appreciation itself would expatriate its own esteem. An evidently circular dogma, in his perspective, yet a truism that heeded no apocryphalness.

The little one's giggles had subsided presently, only for his light snores to make itself known to anyone within a length of compartment radius. They burrowed themselves deep within his core, striking a chord which he never really contemplated with due candour. It was of the sort he would classify as a repressed thought- not a notion of minute significance, but one that would garner perhaps too much- if brought to the fore.

Childhood, infancy, birth, conception. Varying stages of a youngling's life from the moment of fertilization of its egg, ensued by the instance of its own hatching, supervened by its physical, mental and spiritual growth on the plane of mortality that, for all rights elucidated by the world, posed it as an equal in livelihood. His thoughts drifted to this formidable notion: the conception of an organism from nothing. Not in the sense of its physicality or its biological makeup, rather its being; the characteristic of being extant- of possessing a consciousness: the very element of existence that had eluded the rationality of the foremost of prodigious minds. He had witnessed the birthing of a neonate before, but was still hitherto to come to terms with the fervent violence of the act, the incessant agony and the prolonged momentariness that delivered a frightful brand of apprehension to even the most collected of individuals.

Yet it was the geniture of the bloody infant as he splayed from his mother that prompted the most striking effect within him- an equal measure of exaltation and bafflement. The moment of its first cry after it formally procured entrance into the world was a great deal more enrapturing by its symbolic connotation than by its aesthetic marvel. Its cry was one of defiance; a foretelling of its abiding will to be characterised as an existence and, at the most rudimentary front, live: a remonstration against the elemental law of equivalent exchange that bore the world and all that therein.

He thought it to be fickle to consider humans to possess such facility so as to have the gall to belie the fabric of cosmos. After all they were only puny humans- weak creatures by any definition that solely thrived within their own inescapable flask, right? That misconception was the pivotal point to what led many to underestimate the aweing faculty of the human existence. The becoming of a person could never be facilitated in reverse. Could one be rendered non-existent? Perhaps in body and mind…but what of spirit? The fulcrum of humanity was its soul, a device of true immortality that would be sooner annihilated than would the happening that Lucifer hops up from his grill and proclaims his eternal love and obedience towards mankind. True life never falters into non-being, it is undying and unsurmountable. Humans wane from the earthen plane exclusively for the truism that the mind and body both succumb to the gift of mortality. The soul however, that bears the imprint of both corporeality and mentality, bares ethereality: the curse of immortality.

Contrarily, idealizing such concepts was woefully quixotic- it did not appeal to his scientific nature to construct his own plane around such naïve and hopelessly romantic idealisms. He wasn't one of those insufferable idealists after all, it would be of little pragmatism in scope of the veracities of the tangible world.

Yet…by just passing recognition over the whimsical music spawned ad-lib by the family adjacent to him…could pragmatic rationalism alone illustrate simple human affections that, at its essence, were treasured unwittingly?

He found himself to be encumbered by such thoughts…eyelids drooping visibly as brain waves wavered over to the opposite end of the spectrum. The light snores of the youngling still permeated the dry lukewarm air. Chuckling quietly, Edward Elric leaned back against the plush maroon leather of the seating of his compartment- drifting off to a lazy, blissful sleep.

_**Episode-II**_

"Welcome back to Central Command, Former Major Edward Elric," saluted the smartly dressed lieutenant- his stature pulled to firm attention whilst his right hand swept up adroitly, in a manner that surmised for experience in such a custom, to the immediate right of his forehead. His most recent assignment was to be on guard at the stoic metal gates that lay entrance to the very heart of the recently reinstituted Amestrian parliamentary republic. He wore his customary cobalt uniform meticulously, buttoned to the very top with not a thread out of place- calling heed to its preposterous starchiness. He stepped aside in a brisk roundabout motion, palm still grazed against his forehead, and punched in the gate control switch- instigating the assuredly not ornamental cast steel gates to open contrariwise, authorising passage to the former Major.

Edward nodded at him and slapped the lieutenant on his epaulet as he walked past nonchalantly. The lieutenant, in return, obliged a disgruntled twitch at the uncustomary return gesture but nevertheless successfully endeavoured to command restraint on his sentiments over the due veneration that the former alchemist warranted.

His comrade, fulfilling the stead direct opposite to the other- silent for the greater duration of the entrance of the new figure whilst exhibiting indefatigable doggedness in his uninhibited goggling, whispered excitedly to his slightly irked superior, "Whoa Denny. That was Edward Elric, the hero of Amestris. What are the odds that we'd meet the Fullmetal Alchemist ever?"

Denny huffed imperiously, "I do not think much of him. He's too young and he does not act at all how a respectable Major should," He snorted disdainfully before flashing a livid stare at his charge. "And to clarify, _Second_ Lieutenant Smith, you will address me as Lieutenant Wilkins as a lower-ranked officer should when in the call of duty," he commanded in a tonality that invited no further discussion on the matter.

The junior of the two swore, "Shaddup Denny. Just 'cause you got yourselves promoted a rank up from me for playing fetch for the Brigadier General doesn't mean that you get to act like a little office prude,"

The other's eyes darkened, "You little wiseass. If you ever actually did a day's honest work instead of horsing around with the female recruits, you might actually…"

Their agitated blathering eventually droned out into the quiet humdrum of military routine, yielding no further interest to him as he strolled casually- past a series of steel-rimmed doors- into the emblazoned atrium of Central Command, whereupon he was greeted with the orderly bustle of numerous wards, officers and other haughtily suited officials as they passed each other to and fro; the motion of each implicating the presence of an imperative duty that rallied every ounce, and perhaps more, of their consideration.

Central Command was too well organized a machine, from his frank vantage point. There was such an incessant movement of gears and cogs, switches and levers, relays and modules, circuits and breakers and any other possible thingamajigs and thingamabobs- that the entire compendium of clockworks cascaded frenziedly in a whirling blur of navy, such that the clock face's observable hue Doppler-effected to a purplish tint. Its mechanistic nature, premeditated routine and formalized approach called on little of his enthusiasm, especially since he considered himself to be an individual who strategized and acted synchronously- a matter he had never quite brought fair approval to, especially from the higher echelon of the brass.

He thought himself to be a strange sight, dressed as he was in his non-uniform garb that contrasted so verily with the monolith of an organism that was composed of a mass of the same conformed cell. Those who knew not of his name watched him curiously, paying close heed to the incongruous golden-haired youth clad in an unkempt beige jacket and baggy full-length trousers. Granted, at the time whereupon his rank was still effective- he was as dissident as he was currently in his obstinacy to express his own unique style to the line of duty. He was yet to disremember the time when he sported his blazing crimson cloak, the very same that embossed the insignia of the alchemist Flamel, much to the chagrin of everyone else in the military who had called upon it to be exorbitantly gaudy and rich of poor taste; he still disagreed vociferously on that part.

He quickened his pace as it was made apparent to him that a large number of staff were beginning to freeze in their tracks and stare openly at him- to the point of gawking that marked upon it an unhealthy sum of curiosity. It wasn't that he had disfavoured the attention- that would after all be an incongruity in his prideful nature. It was just that he was particularly far too acquainted with what arose from excess attention. He had learnt first-hand never to escalate a situation beyond its prime proportions, or else he would wind up with the majority of his garments stripped off his skin- unwillingly of course if an alternative interpretation were ever to arise.

Caught up in his thoughts, he failed to gauge that his current trajectory would set him on a collision course with another lax figure that was much too preoccupied in kindling a cigarette that was dawdling through his tobacco-smeared lips.

"Ai man! That was my last cigarette," he groaned with a lilted mewl as his fume-stick tumbled unceremoniously onto the floor.

His visibly saddened expression brightened comically when he sighted his offender.

"Fullmetal boss," he exclaimed, reaching forward to grasp him by his paws and shake them vigorously. His stretched grin put the former alchemist at ease, more out of a play of familiarity than by the ruse of the expression itself.

"Havoc. Good to see you back on your feet," Edward replied with an air of cheek.

He turned blue and sighed dramatically, though with no feathers ruffled, "Ha-ha Fullmetal. Poke fun at me with the oldest joke in the lower bunkers. Honestly, you have no original material," he remarked testily.

Ed merely grinned. "Sorry Havoc, but that one never gets old. You have to learn to carry yourself by your own two legs you know," he added unoriginally, passing another clichéd remark.

He couldn't help but chuckle at that one. He waved a hand at his digressions and swept a probing eye over the eighteen year old former dog of the military- they had delivered him the mantle of the Hero of Amestris presently. He noted that he had gained quite a measure of height since their last meeting, though he supposed it would be best not to mention it- what with his vanity-abundant temperament and explosive tendencies. Still, if had to say so, he carried a newfound presence of maturity that sobered the once overly excitable boy.

"So Fullmetal Boss…"

"You don't have to call me that anymore," he interrupted, voicing the disquiet at having been still granted the deference merited by a state alchemist when he satisfied neither of the conditions of that position. "I can't do alchemy anymore, and I resigned from the military remember?"

Havoc snorted, "Sorry Fullmetal boss, it doesn't matter how useless you are- you could be a disabled second lieutenant stuck in a wheelchair for a year…" he paused for an instant to compose his next words. He then beamed widely, "But you're still going to be that pipsqueak genius alchemist; Fullmetal,"

Ed's countenance turned an acrid hue of scarlet, "Who the hell are you calling a pipsqueak you cigarette addict,"

He guffawed, "See you haven't changed a bit," He ran a hand through his own spiky blonde tresses and beamed at the boy- no, not a boy any longer. Edward merely seethed in quiet.

"But seriously Fullmetal," he continued with a lazy smirk. Edward frowned at him with a greater deal suspicion than fulmination. "I'm pissed. Why didn't you tell me you got lucky?"

His own eyes creased with confusion, golden irises clouding to mask his ignorance on the matter. "Eh?" he dumbly responded.

Havoc chortled maniacally, "Feigning ignorance, are we Fullmetal? You slick bastard," he thumped his back for good measure, leading the perplexed youth to stumble forward a few paces from his stead.

"What the hell Havoc?" he snarled. Other eyes stayed on the pair, transfixed at the sight of an altercation that clashed so verily with the run of affairs- as if the divine plan itself was soiled. He quickly gathered his remnants of self-control, mindful of not attracting too much attention. After all, he surely did not wish to proffer yet another exemplar for the Brigadier General to hold him as an example of.

"Lieutenant Havoc!" sounded the roar of an imperious authority in overt displeasure. His punitive boom echoed perilously throughout the chasm of disarray- near immediately snapping the liable members to attention whilst reinstating the relay that had involuntarily failed as a consequence of unforeseen intrusion.

Lt. Havoc stood to attention quicker than the reaction of a dainty young lass to an arachnid crawling along her front tresses. His hand swept up in the action of a stiff salute in such a minute period of motion that Edward could have sworn that his arm was an automail.

"Colonel Redwood sir," he replied steely, yet unable to supress the fearful tremor ported as an undercurrent in his voice.

"Where the fuck have you been Lieutenant? You were ordered to be at debriefing for Echo 4, as per your role as a solder in that squadron, fifteen minutes ago," he bellowed unrestrainedly, the angry jowls of his ageing face reddening by virtue of his rapidly pulsating arteries popping outright.

Edward raised an eyebrow at this formidable specimen. His hunched back and pronounced potbelly showcased his physical deterioration into the cesspits of ageing, considering that he had aged to such a deprived standard that he was well far below the poverty line in that aspect. His dearth of grey hair- and coloured hair for that matter- along with his array of underscored wrinkles and skin blemishes would lead most folk to gather very little threat from a man of such stooped bearing. However, in judgement of Havoc's reaction, it seemed as if the physical dominion of the man had survived his costume ageing.

He stumbled pitiably, "Yessir…b-but…ya see…I…"

"I don't want to hear you're fucking excuses.You've been chatting up civilians you slacker. Now get your tail behind my behind and follow me before I use you as target practise for the rookie snipers, do I make myself clear Lieutenant?" he catechised- though his question was more in the form of a snarl than anything resemblant to words.

"Yes sir!" Havoc yelled tearfully, the last part of the Colonel's threat had most definitely drilled the fear of God within him. Col. Redwood briskly turned on his heels and marched smartly forward, not at once batting an eyelid towards where the amused- though not without a degree of slight trepidation- civilian stood. Lt. Havoc materialized instantaneously by his side, struggling to match the Colonel's strident pace.

"You'd better get ready for six hours of paper duty you fucking sloth," he leered malignantly.

Havoc blanched, "Six hours? Uh…I mean yes sir. Of course, glad to do it,"

"Nah you won't you fucking liar," he laughed maniacally, their two forms muddling into lost perspective.

Edward watched the two of them disappear into unexplored corridors and shook his head disdainfully. Was there ever anything uneventful in this bag of tricks?

Feeling that he'd best be on his way as well, he continued on his way upwards to the very heart of the lion's den, his insides knotted with the unpleasant sensation that the newly promoted Brigadier General would be plausibly as gracious a host as his wisecracking subordinate is, the discovery of which was to his own cost. Placing himself once more within an environment that had never strictly held much content for him in the first place, yet had inscribed memorable recollections that had amended a large portion of his core, he couldn't help but have his thoughts waver to bygone days- blessed be they bygone. He recalled times ago, operations and what not when he positioned himself, sometimes not voluntarily, as a specially reared hound of the regime of one particularly unscrupulous, if not downright evil, Fuhrër President. Happenings during such an incorrigible epoch had soiled the innocence of his childhood and exposed far too much of the unpleasant truisms of the world to one as young as himself. It had hardened him, had it not? Hardened him at so deep an internal level that he could longer bear to see innocence within the activities of others, believing that corruption reigns supreme as an inherent law of the physical domain- just as entropy does: the natural flow of order and chaos with the eventuality of everything in existence exacting to chaos. Of course that was what he would like to think of as his own definition of truth, when in all veracity the truth was far beyond the dampness of such a sombre introspection. It gladdened him to reflect on prior endeavours and think that a great deal of his childish optimism had subsisted the likes of a brusquely unchildish reality. To think that there were people and treasures worthy to protect, ideals worthy to preserve to sustain and pass on, relationships and such worthy to sustain and embolden whilst enduring a cause- fruitful or futile- that strived to ensure the fulfilment of all these juvenile, idealistic values.

He was just about to cross over to the second landing before he bumped into the path of another grantedly much more sizeable figure- that would have been acquainted far better in place amongst the mythological Grecian titans than with those of whom he markedly towered over.

The soaring colossus Atlas stood over him, looking as if he could feasibly hold the might of the sizeable sky within the massive reach of his gargantuan arms.

"Edward Elric," he boomed joyfully as he captured sight of his young friend merely a few paces from him. He reached over to him, arms opened majestically, to gather him in his preposterously muscle-clad embrace.

"Wait-wait-wait, Major Armstrong. You don't need to…" Edward started in bubbling panic.

His efforts were rendered futile as the well too affectionate hulking major strapped him into his overly warm embrace.

"Edward Elric. You've grown up so much. It saddens me to think that a boy who has experienced so little of his childhood has already become a man," he lamented empathetically, tightening his grasp on the smothered significantly smaller man who looked as if he would gladly exchange his captor for a pressurized steam cooker.

"Major…you…are…" he began, before no more breaths could escape from his mouth.

"Alex," the gruff female voice of his saviour rang out, sounding so sweet and melodious in his ears. "Alex you bumbling idiot. You either completely strangle a person within your reach or you leave him be as he is," she scolded domineeringly.

Edward deflated, his saviour was the worst sort of saviour- the one that would only slow his demise.

"Sister," Alex Louis Armstrong replied to her command, dutifully relinquishing the poor man from his grasp as he toppled to the floor and struggled to rack in as much air as per the presently hyperbolically enlarged capacity of his lungs.

His sister, a striking specimen that shared his pale skin, blond hair and sharp angular features- though not his towering height and burly muscular build, stood ramrod over the kneeling oddity of the trio who looked as if he would much rather be back in Briggs than stout-centre between the pair.

"Edward Elric," she called upon him curtly. From far off sight, if she was turned away, some might actually be duped into believing that an approachable feminine beauty, with a fantastically lean body at that, stood a passable distance from them. Of course, you would never hear stories of suicidal approaches mandated by such deluded fools- for reasons unmentionable: purely out of restraint for the younger readers.

"Life away from the military has already made you soft, Elric. It astounds me to believe that you are now called the Hero of Amestris," she stated coldly, her unflinching gaze casting steel daggers worthy of her frosty nature.

Edward involuntarily shuddered- but matched her gaze fire for frost- pulling himself up to his full height and steadying his ground.

"Nice to see you too- Major General," he spat with as much vindictiveness as possible by the length of his spittle.

She arched a distasteful eyebrow at him, "Watch your tongue brat. I don't need to be talked down by a pretentious has-been who no longer unsheathes the sword worthy of the name given to him,"

He chuckled, "Harsh words Major-General. Could that be a trace of envy in your voice?" He invited no attempt to mask the testiness and jeer in his voice, amply warranting for the events that succeeded this unpleasant discourse.

With the fluid lithe motion of a confronted feline, she brandished her sword effortlessly- steadying it so that it was merely an inch away from her opponent's face. The glimmering weapon showcased its lethal efficacy in the face of battle- after all, it was a long passed down heirloom that had survived the scuffles and skirmishes of numerous proud Armstrong men and women who all paid themselves worthy of their names. Edward Elric had the pleasure of having its sharpened steel edge virtually extending right through the cleft between his two orbs.

The Olympian sustained her battle stance, her regal aristocratic features and battle-hardy temperament validating the dominative strength that ran vehemently through her fiery veins. One would think that her icy blue eyes, hardened to such a state that it rivalled the fortitude of diamond, showed no hesitation in cutting down her opponent with one deliberate, dexterous slash of the accursed blade.

"Oliviér," her brother reprimanded her gently, raising his hands cautiously for all purposes of security. She paid no heed to him.

"Shut your mouth insolent brat. You think that I, the Ice Queen of the northern wall of Briggs, would be envious of the reckless acts of a mere child?" she catechized wrathfully, extending her reach just a smidgeon further in order for the tip of her sword to barely graze the skin of her prey.

Edward matched her gaze, playing the art of the predator as skilfully as his oppressor whilst not yielding an inch in submission. The principal law of Briggs rang through his head- thudding with the lurching flow of thickened blood.

She held her position for a timely lapse, squaring him eye for eye and scrutinizing every fibre of his being within her field of vision.

"It's good to see that your balls are still attached to you- brat," she smirked drily.

Swiftly sheathing the celebrated sword into its receptacle, she eased her battle stance and flashed a passable smile at the individual she judged to be worthy enough to retain his life.

"It has been some time Edward Elric. How have you been?" she queried in a mellower tone.

He choked disbelievingly, "What the hell was that all about?"

She shrugged disinterestedly, "I was keen to know if you were still worthy of your repute for your efforts in dismantling the Homunculus threat. I am now satisfied that you have kept some ounce of valour within you, so I shall leave you unscathed- for now," she added, a trace of roguish bestiality in her expression and tonality- indifferent from habitualness.

Ed grumbled whiningly, "Do you have to treat every waking moment as if you are on the battlefield,"

She puffed imperiously, "It is critical to being a soldier at Briggs. Your eyes must be ready, your stance sheathed at the go and your weapon by your side at all times. It is the must for the survival of the fittest," she clenched both of her fists as deference to the primary tenant of Briggs.

"Here you go again with that stuff. No is one going to try to fight a bear like you…" he bit back his tongue, aware that her hand still laid resting on the hilt of her beloved sword.

She smirked, "I'll take that as a compliment,"

Alex interrupted their vocal sparring, "Sister, Edward Elric. Now is not the time to exchange battle threats," he focussed his gaze onto the less formidable of the two. "How was your trip west, Edward?" he asked keenly.

Edward grinned, "It was a waste of time for the most part. The alchemists over there know less than we do," He paused then added with a subtle wink, "I did however stumble across a very promising find,"

Major General Armstrong smiled, "I'm glad that your trip proved fruitful. Let's hope that it benefits the new Amestrian regime,"

He scratched his head in response to her last comment, "Yeah about that, how has the Amestrian situation changed presently?"

Alex cleared his throat, squaring his gaze at his comrade, "That's a heavy question to ask, Edward Elric. Much has transpired under the regime of Fuhrër President Grumman. Many of our officials, Brigadier General Roy Mustang included, are pressing for severe changes in the Amestrian legislature. He has advocated for a reform in electoral policy and a dissolution of the present military compliant parliamentary system. One particular policy he is devoting much of his efforts to is the one that establishes the separation of state and military,"

His sister snorted at his latter remark, "The idiot's too idealistic if you ask me. Pushing for such a drastic change in the way in which a country was run for the lapse of its history is plain stupidity. Anyway, that fool Grumman would never release the power of his seat- and Mustang's too occupied in prying him from his throne," She ceased her flow of conversation and strolled over to the adjacent window- watching the Amestrian folk and soldiers circulate around the streets- too occupied in the dally of normal activity. She sighed wistfully, "Don't think poorly of me, Edward Elric. I too hope to see the dissolution of the Amestrian authoritarian regime. I am a military woman through and through and I personally believe in the strength of a country's military above all else…but yet it is not something I'll advocate for the running of a country. Amestris requires a leader who will put her needs and her people above the sanctioning of military strength,"

Edward mused over both of their declarations. It seemed to him that Amestris was in the rising initial midst of political turmoil which could only weaken the position of her new president- and spelled only harm to the well-being of the country. It was if they were all figureheads positioned on a chessboard, each representative of a role within the same side and devoting strength to an ultimate aim. Yet they lacked uniformity with not every figure pledging allegiance to the same king. It added a fascinating aspect to the game, one of political intrigue in which the roles of pieces could easily be reversed as per the opposition of central figures, each circulating alternate parties internal to the the ruling faction. He wondered how long such dissent could be upheld in their corner of the board before destabilisation achieved palpability. Lest not be forgotten that a chessboard pitted two opposing factions against each other. It was stifling to consider the presence of an unknown enemy whose strength surely lied in the opposition's foil.

The personalities of a few pieces were made apparent to him. The current king: Grumman, faced upheaval from the ambitions of two very formidable bishops: their strengths lying in their unquenchable thirsts. Those of others were still cloaked in shadow, though they would soon suffice their intentions to be transparent- it was only fitting for the flow of affairs. He could only speculate of what his role would be in the midst of these turbulent affairs. Personally, he would partake no doing in such conspiratorial acts of political subterfuge, but the whispering caw in the rearmost of his mind dismissed the likelihood of such a possibility.

One particular brainwave reverberated through the synapses of his mind…

"So in short, you're willing to endorse Roy Mustang in his campaign for the Fuhrër's seat," he surmised aloud before he could halt the flow of words from his mouth.

She blanched, momentarily. Her jugular veins suddenly gaining increased prominence as her face started to flush a blood-soaked shade of crimson. The grimace on her face commenced to exponentially gain a bestial characteristic as her icy eyes flared with flames that could exhaust every ounce of heat within a person's body- to such an extent that the sun itself shied itself away from her demented gaze- the one that regrettably was now directed towards him.

"Never! I'd sooner hand my beloved Briggs to your control, or worse yet- to my idiot brother's," she snarled, far too excessively disconcerted by his blasphemous inference.

Alex turned blue, "Oliviér," he pouted despondently.

She ignored him, "I may not fully fall into disapproval with a few of his less naïve ideas, but there is no way I would ever let that vision-ridden visionary snatch the Fuhrër's seat from me," she stilled herself- aware that she crossed lines that were too far off from the roads of common human decency.

"Sister," Major Armstrong warned stiffly. "You went too far with that. That was terribly undeserved on your part," he clenched his teeth in supressed anger for the scathing remark stained upon his friend's slate.

She bowed her head, feeling due shame for her actions. She knew that she had cast ignominy on her family name for skulking down to unveiling such unbecoming tactics.

Edward alternated his gaze between the two at odds siblings. Noting the dejection trailed on both their countenances- he sighed heftily, bowing his head for good measure.

"So Mustang hasn't recovered his vision yet, even when the philosopher's stone was used," he muttered quietly.

Alex bleached, his pale complexion morphing to one of comparable albinism, "How d-did you find about that…" he stammered, at a loss for words.

He waved away the colossus's discomfiture, "It didn't take much to coax the truth out of Marcoh, he was a horrible liar anyway," he stated plainly.

Alex nodded, "Yes Edward Elric. I'm afraid that the attempts with the philosopher's stone were in vain. We drained the accursed thing and it gave him a perfect set of new eyes, but he still couldn't see the glare of the sun when we moved him to the window,"

He mused over this happening. If the Brigadier General's eyes were in working order, he should be able to see. The philosopher's stone should allow for the regeneration of both the optic cells within the eye itself and the optic nerve and all adjacent pathways connected to the visual cortex of the brain. Considering that both, were in actuality, carried out successfully- as per the Major's affirmations…the only other logical conclusion was that Truth took neither Mustang's eyes or his nerve connections as a toll. Which meant…

"Truth took away his visual field," he realized suddenly, considering both the circumstantial details of Mustang's situation and the relevance of the particular toll taken. Both the Armstrong siblings turned their hands and creased their eyebrows simultaneously- if they could only see each other now- in bemusement.

"Think about it. Truth is an entity that works to reduce conceit among humans who attempt human transmutation. He removed Mustang's vision because he dreamt too much of the country's future. And that was the key- he dreamt too much. Dreaming does not require sight, biologists showed that it is dependent on present sensory memory- which is why our dreams constitute objects that we have perceived already. If Truth was to inhibit Mustang's ability to dream- not only would be have to neutralize his optical structures, he would also have to block out his visual field as well," he rationalized astutely as the whirring machinery that constituted his own cognitive structures went into overdrive.

"What do you mean by taking away his visual field?" she questioned impatiently, clearly flustered over the cryptic character of his ramblings.

It was unfathomable to him, yet the Brigadier General's affliction procured absolute clarity within the confines of his cognizance. A plethora of neural connections lighted up haphazardly, at such great a rate that it proved crippling even to the cognitive capabilities of a prodigious individual. As an ability inherent to his biological makeup, Edward could stimulate his brain, via application of an incumbent obsessive-compulsive focus- to filter out everything but his target information- whilst mapping his neural structures to facilitate a preposterously rapid and meticulous transfer of information that allotted for epiphanic deductions, inductions and processing feats to be actualized, then consolidated in immensely shorter periods of time than passable for.

Such a feat had readily been accomplished presently. With the appropriate information consolidated in his memory banks- he prepared to voice his inference on the true capriciousness of the entity known as Truth.

"Think about the state of consciousness. Consciousness by itself is the ability to be aware of the physicality of the external world. It is constituted by sensory perception: vision, sound, smell, taste and touch. Each sense, in the consciousness, is a particular field- almost as if it is some sort of metaphysical energy that is accessible only to the mind of the individual who holds that consciousness. The consciousness itself is an overlap of all these different fields- fitting together like an invariably complicated puzzle. Each field is rendered by a transfer of sensory information. It originates at the sensory organ, such as the eye, transfers to the brain and then is transduced to the consciousness as a field. Suppose for a moment that Truth was able to inhibit the transfer of sensory information from the brain to the consciousness, particularly that of the visual field. This would mean, that no matter the state of one's internal organs- if the consciousness process was itself disrupted- it would be impossible to produce a visual field that allows one to observe the physical world," he finished breathlessly, aware of the unsurmountable difficulties reified in practise for resolution of the problem at hand- as per his inference.

The Major General swept a hand through her forehead, wrinkling the crease of her skin in focussed comprehension. Privately, she was impressed by the prodigious rationalizing abilities of the genius youth- though she would never publically admit it.

"From what I understand of that drivel of yours, not that it's understandable by normal standards, you're saying that Truth somehow managed to insert a mental block into Mustang's consciousness that prevents him from seeing?" she asked incredulously.

He nodded affirmatively in response. "Yes, it seems to be the only possible solution that explains how the philosopher's stone was unable to repair the damage caused by Truth," he paused and hummed with deliberation. "I've never heard of our alchemy or a philosopher's stone repairing mental damage,"

Her eyes unclouded, "Huh. So I guess Mustang is technically insane if he's blocked mentally,"

"Technically," he affirmed, though with a warning tone to reprimand any ulterior motives to this decidedly profitable discovery.

Alex had stayed quiet for the duration of their conversation. His head was bowed and his expression saddened. "So there's no hope for Roy Mustang at all?"

He refused this possibility. "There's never no hope at all. My brother is researching Eastern Alchemy in Xing as we speak. We know that it is much better suited to medicinal purposes than our form of alchemy. Surely it will offer a solution to Mustang's predicament. If not, I'll send Alfonse back to Xing each time until he finally gets it right," he pledged- adamant to his word.

The Major reared his head at the determined former Major and flashed a soft smile on his sculpted countenance. "Thank you, Edward Elric,"

His sister nodded, "I hope you are right Edward Elric. I wish all success to Mustang to get his vision fixed so that bastard Truth can roll in a pile of its own shit," she muttered darkly.

She stood up to attention and started a brisk walk to destinations unknown. "Come on Alex. We have to attend another one of General Daryl's debriefings," her full lips curled at the very notion.

"Of course sister," he began to pace alongside his sister when he halted abruptly, fixed to a standstill as he ruminated quietly.

"I forgot to inform you Edward. You had a visitor her while you were on your trip," he stated impassively.

A visitor…to Central? Perhaps Alfonse or…

"Miss Winry Rockbell came here a few times, asking for any information about your whereabouts and status. I passed her by once and she asked me if you sent any notification to her or Central Command," he stated- in the very same drone a textbook would emulate- listing out information without any inflection behind it.

Edward felt a rising cold drench him. He looked to see if the window was open, yet it appeared to be as if the cold materialized out of his own fluctuations. So it seemed that she had travelled the entire distance from Resembool to Central to inquire upon his own well-being when he had himself made no effort on his part as to hers. He felt rotten, as if he were a mouldy orange that soiled the rest of the fruit in the crate as delivery to the displeasure of others.

Armstrong made no attempt to turn around or pay heed to his discomfiture. He merely continued in that same tinny drone of his, "She looked to be quite worried for you Edward Elric. She asked why you had relucted to call her or send a telegram. All three of us know that an international switchboard allows for calls to other nations," he added this part as provision of supplementary guilt- the gruffness in his voice accentuated as further admonishment.

He finally turned around and squared him in the eyes. Edward struggled to match his piercing gaze but bared the disapproving stare that the Major would have relented in all other circumstance. His titanic nature looked all the more ostentatious, calling at odds with the soft-natured personality radiating from every chiselled corner of his being.

"She looked quite worried for you Edward Elric," he repeated impassively. "I'd hate to think of you being any cause for burden for a person that you owe such a great deal to. I think that it should be the other way around- Edward Elric," he concluded stonily before whisking off to re-join his sister.

And so he was left behind, his only comrade the stony silence closing in on him from each corner. Well…at least it was known to him of what role he played in the chessboard of affairs…

_**Episode-III**_

A subtle tapping emanating from an about ten metre radial distance; the cooing whisper of a breeze as it compressed through the gap of a window sill a foot away- only to rarefy when it clashed against the stillness of the air; the faint hollow echoing of footsteps from every corner- almost as if they were omnidirectional- superimposing and resonating in fluctuated variance. The mirthful laughter of men and women- all with different inflections and amplitudes- as it lost effect when it mediated through the concrete walls. The gentle female series of pitches of a woman just a few paces from him- reading aloud off a script. The accentuated, alcoholic aroma of her scent as it weaselled by throughways by action of the wavelike breeze- only to hone in on him from all directions and instigate a debilitating ambush that brokered little resistance from him.

But above all: the overwhelming, enervating, cauterizing and absolutely blinding sense of darkness that resulted from a void in an integral aspect of his existence. He was drowning in the absence of a particular substantiality, a device that was critical to sustaining some sort of self-stabilising equilibrium- that was off-kilter presently. He was thieved, his purpose not lost- yet ransacked by unwarranted circumstances that dealt roguishly capricious blows undeliverable by any rational consensus. Still, he would not let it bog him down. There was still much that had to be done.

"The report is positive in most lights, as marked by the commanding officer. The Ishval relocation scheme has received the green light for most things considered. Convoys are transferring Ishvalan nationals from various slums and temporary housing facilities to their homeland. The Fuhrër has also signalled that the rights of possession of the province labelled as the Promised Land will be handed over to the Ishvalan leaders within a week's time or so after supplementary issues has been set in order. However, Lieutenant Colonel Miles is still stressing the need for reimbursement to provide reparations to much of the infrastructural, economic and agricultural resources brought to ruin by collateral damage during the Ishvalan war. He has italicised collateral damage. He has requested for a transfer of funds, labour and construction materials in immediacy to begin progress on restoring the Ishvalan territories, he includes a statement from Scar that states that it is only quid pro quo," Captain Hawkeye stated informatively- dictating the brief and specifics of the report verbatim- he made out the tightening of her grip faintly.

Brigadier General Mustang snifted- making no effort to conceal the sarcasm in his voice, "That last bit is definitely going to bode well with Grumman. Miles makes it sound more like a demand than a request, not that it's unreasonable. The Fuhrër will never agree to these terms, they demand far too many resources, especially at this critical stage,"

"That may be true, but it wouldn't do much good for the future or reputation of this country if the Fuhrër doesn't take responsibility for the actions carried out by the past administration. The Ishvalan conflict was at the heart of the disaster that nearly claimed Amestris. The Promised Land should be restored back to its glory, if only as a sign of goodwill towards the future of this country," she declared magnanimously.

Roy chuckled, "Don't tell you're after the Fuhrër's seat as well. To think that I'm going to double-crossed in my own office…the irony of it all," he sighed in mock despair.

"And why not?" she challenged. "I'm sure I could do the job a lot better than you could," she added teasingly.

He felt himself deflate at her remark, he thought of her as perhaps one of the very few who could successfully target the cracks in his armour- not that there were many in the first place.

"Ai Captain Hawkeye. You can be so cruel sometimes, mocking your superior officer so cruelly. And I thought you were supposed to watch my back at all times," he let out a dramatic sigh for good effect.

He could hear her subtle smirk before she began another bout of teasing at his expense, "I'm sure it will be a lot easier to do when I'm Fuhrër. I can even ban incombustible liquids to prevent you from dousing out. After all, the entire command knows the problem you have with them, Brigadier General,"

He groaned, "Ai-ai. You're horrible Hawkeye, you probably work with me to just to rub in the fact that I'm a wet matchstick,"

"Not just a wet matchstick," she replied coyly.

He harrumphed, "To business then Hawkeye, since it seems that I'm nowhere close to winning this argument. Now I can't give Miles all that he asks for since most of the government funds are already invested in other expenditures and we can't count on Grumman to reallocate them at this stage- they are not tax-refundable after all. We can't hike up the taxes of the people either, it would no good for morale," he paused for a moment, composing his thoughts as he drummed his fingers lightly across the oak-wood desk he was seated behind of. The soft repetitious sound granted him some ease.

He cleared his throat and spoke imperiously, "Write this down Hawkeye, as I dictate. As chief director of the Ishvalan relocation scheme, code I-V-K zero five two, it is my recommendation that the requested totalling imbursements asked upon by Lieutenant Colonel Miles not be granted for reasons of a lack of transferrable funds at this stage. However, as a temporary compensation that will be amended at a later stage, the grants for the reparations of the Promised Land will be supplied in terms of construction materials, building equipment, clothing and food and drink packages. Note that this grant will be termed as a self-help venture: code DIY, hence manual labour will be at the devices of the Ishval people themselves. With supplied resources, the Ishval people will be able to commence reparation with the assistance of a number of civilian experts who have volunteered their assistances. As a closing remark, I stress that I will increase my efforts to ensure that the Ishvalan people will gain full restitution for the genocidal crimes committed during the Ishvalan conflict. I intend to personally request Fuhrër Grumman to authorize a monetary order that will transfer capitals to the Ishvalan leaders for further reparation. So speak I, Brigadier General Roy Mustang,"

In the ambient silence, he could discern his ward furiously transcribing his soliloquy with breakneck speed.

"See that a copy of that invoice is sent to Lieutenant Colonel Miles, Grumman, Major General Armstrong and General Daryl. Oh, and keep a double-copy for myself as well,"

The scratching of her pen across the paper ceased, "General Daryl as well?" she queried touchily.

Roy grimaced sympathetically, "I understand your feelings for the man. You don't like him, I don't like him, hell even his wife doesn't like him- but he did express interest in resolving the internal conflicts within Amestris. Anyway, it's not like we can do without him. He has proven very useful in cajoling the higher-ups, especially Grumman,"

The sound of her pen scrawling across the sheet resumed- then ceased upon completion.

"My recommendation not agreeing with you, Captain?" he inquired amusedly.

She tapped the pen on what sounded to be the back of her hand. "Permission to speak freely sir?"

"Granted, but you really don't need to ask me that anymore," he answered sweetly.

She snuffed- very faintly, "What you're doing is not enough Brigadier General. Both of us experienced the horrors of the Ishvalan war so we have a good idea of how much we really need to repent for our sins," she paused and then sighed reproachfully. "Yet I understand that we're limited in what we can do, so I'll stick by your decision Brigadier General- even if I feel that it's not enough,"

Mustang paid close heed to her words and marvelled at his ward's indomitable compassion. He splayed a wide smirk across his countenance, "You're just a big softie aren't you Captain Hawkeye?" Not yielding a chance for response, or likelier a sardonic remark at his expense, he continued without comment, "I wholeheartedly agree with your feelings Hawkeye. We're not doing enough," he furrowed his eyebrows and smacked his hand on the desk in an act of remonstration, "But that does not mean we're going to stop at that. I plan to take back all the suffering that the Ishvalans and all others were dealt by the wrath of the Homunculus regime," He stopped abruptly when the gravity of his words made themselves known to him, ensnaring the woeful error on his part. "No I can't say that. I can't take back their suffering. But I'll give an equal…no a greater amount of joy back to them. No longer will Amestris have to suffer the tyranny of a corrupt government. I'll rise to the top and protect those closest to me- and they in turn will protect those closest to them until every subordinate has their own to take care of and every citizen knows the feeling of protection and liberty that their nation gives them," He rammed his other fist on the desk for added emphasis- mindful that he just might have inflicted an unobservable bruise on his knuckles. He clenched his teeth to alleviate the pain, his expression tightening in adamant resolution, "So say I, Fuhrër Roy Mustang," he declared aloud.

It dealt him good to voice his ambitions out so audibly, the fact kneading on him that he was ever so closer to seeing, in a matter of sense, his desires come to fruition. Unsightly hurdles would no longer flaunt themselves within his largely expanding threshold any longer.

"Idiot Colonel, half of Central probably heard that. You'd get doused with a bucket before you would even start,"

A stranger tonality ranged out- clad of an arrogant swagger that reeked with mischief and taunt. He would not pay requisition to his newly acute hearing to determine the possessor of that infernal tongue.

"Fullmetal," he muttered wearily, massaging his temples as a force of habit. "With half of Central in earshot, it's only fitting that you would come to sully my efforts,"

He thought that Fullmetal would be affronted by such a razor-drawn retort, a testament to his acuity if he had to say so himself. "Yeah-yeah, like I haven't got better things to do with my time than squander it with your lazy ass," there was a creep of a growl in his speech.

Mustang was surprised by the youth's belligerent attitude. Not that he wasn't belligerent in normality, it was just awry that there was a trace of bite in his usually harmless bark. He seemed distant, almost as if he was exchanging their customary verbal banter purely for the cause of habit.

"Hello Edward. Nice to see you back from your trip," sounded the diplomatic words of his most trusted ward. She seemed to have honed in on the situation, obviously paying witness to their sparring for such an elongated time had breached her conceptions on the stature of normality between the three of them.

"Huh. Oh, nice to see you too Riza," Fullmetal replied back amiably- the animosity in his voice has lessened- something to be worried about presumably.

He returned his attentions back to the Brigadier General, "Alright idiot Colonel…"

"That's Brigadier General to you, Fullmetal," he countered sharply.

The faint whisper of that smirk again. "Whatever you say idiot Brigadier General," Mustang frowned. "So I suppose you want my report on my findings in the Western countries now, eh?" he asked impishly.

He attempted to plaster the most nonchalant expression, in his arsenal, on his countenance. "Your reports on Western Alchemy? Why thank you Fullmetal," he stated pleasantly, extending an outreached hand whilst wiggling his fingers.

He could sense Edward's tightening expression, "Don't you play dumb with me Mustang. You're the one who pulled me aside in the first place so that you could use my research to further your own goals," he barked vindictively.

His expression transmuted to a frown once more, "Slay your tongue Fullmetal runt," he bayed, growing unable to temper the youth's attitude- aware that they both sounded akin to a pair of snarling mutts.

"Eh. Who are you calling a runt? I'm as tall as you are; maybe more so," Mustang was aware that he had struck a raw nerve.

"It's true sir. Edward has grown much since you've last seen him," interjected the Captain in an effort to prevent the rousing of further hostilities.

He chuckled- streaking an index finger through the stray bangs clumping on his forehead. "Well. Then I apologise Fullmetal. It looks as if I can't call you a runt anymore," he paused before adding with a smirk, "I'll have to rack my wits devising an even more infuriating nickname for you. I'd like to see if it could invite a similar response,"

"Whatever you say…Brigadier General. Can we get this over with it? I have a train back home I can't afford to miss," he said casually, though the quivering urgency was marked in his voice.

Roy motioned his palms flat across the air in a beckoning gesture. "Please, Fullmetal."

A rising tremolo disturbance could be sensed before a more ostentatious clunk sounding as a result of wad, of something he assumed to be papers and what not, travelled the full trajectory prompted by Edward and terminated at his desk. It was immediately swooped up, by Hawkeye presumably, consenting another whoosh of air to flatten against his form.

"Most of my travels in the Western countries revealed little of interest," he began honestly- aware that it was soundest to reveal upon the significance of his discovery with reverence to the queer context it was inhabitant of. "Actually, I'm pretty sure that I wasted most of my time polishing Napolis, Skyvlir and most of Creta. It was during my return trip to Creta however, at a little known municipality in the northern province, that I found the good stuff," he paused for an elongated moment, baring time to allot his words to permeate their significance into the dense fissure of Roy Mustang.

When no interruption struck as being forthcoming- he recommenced his flow, "I stumbled upon an arcane tome in a local battered down library in the oldest precinct. There I spent literal hours deciphering a script in our language that was encrypted with one of the most nerve-racking protocols that I have ever seen. It was all the more impressive considering the age of the tome. I estimated it to be at least a thousand years. The encryption scheme made use of a complex lesser known mathematical series algorithm involving multivariable partial integrals and ordinal data. I won't talk in detail about the hard stuff since I know how much it will strain your idiot brain," the sneer was even more impertinent in the still silence. He chose to dismiss it as an infraction, knowing that it would do no good to have Fullmetal on a tangent- even if it was a truly amusing sight.

"Scanning into the earlier writings showed a surprising level of understanding into the alchemical process. A level that puts us back a couple of millennia at the least. It talked about the presence of natural polarities among alchemists and the Earth, stating that there is a flow of charge- in a sense- induced during an alchemical transmutation. The concept is not easy to digest without calculation, but basically there is a flow of energy between an energetic microsystem and an energetic macrosystem that allows for material transmutation,"

Roy held up a hand, "You're saying that this particular tome talks of a flow of polarized charge between a larger energy source and a smaller energy source. But how is that much different from our current interpretation of alchemy?" he quizzed- arching a dubious eyebrow.

He made out the sound of an ostentatious exhalation, "I'm getting to that. Basically, the alchemical process lies within the access of an earthen resource…and the soul,"

Roy chuckled drily, "It always comes back to souls, doesn't it Fullmetal? Why do I have the feeling that I don't want to hear the rest of it?"

He invited no attempt for reply, "The tome says that the earthen resources used by alchemists are sources of neutral energy that are polarized by an external influence…the Gate,"

Roy's eyebrows twitched at this reference, but he made no effort to interrupt- mindful that it every detail had to be consolidated before he could facilitate an appropriate evaluation. He was unaware of Riza's reactions in the matter for she had served to be disquietingly quiet throughout the proceedings.

"Alchemist don't exactly take in energy from the Gate, but the Gate acts as a mechanism that allows energy to be taken up from the earth itself. It said that possible earthen sources could be from weather patterns, underground heat reservoirs, aerial radiation, the natural biochemical flow of the Earth…or even plate tectonics. The tome says these are sources that transmit negatives- the main energy that is borrowed during alchemical transmutations. When a successful connection between a negative energetic system and the soul is set, alchemy can occur. The ancients called this the Reciprocation Principle," he paused to recollect his thoughts.

"The Reciprocation Principle involves the transfer of alchemical energy to and fro between the soul and an earthen resource. It states that the total sum of energy in the left hand side of an alchemical exchange, concerning the earthen source, must remain the same. Basically, alchemists aren't really using up the energy from tectonic plates or anything similar. We're borrowing it and then lending it back. In the tome, there's an example of a perfect alchemical exchange in which a sample of iron is alchemised," he paused. "But first we have to think of our basic laws: alchemy first involves the comprehension of a material's potential and kinetic energy right? Basically its structure. According to the glyphs in the tome, the comprehension process involves the formation of a reaction-inducing agent that can initiate the reaction. The ancients state that this originates in the mind and is then regulated through the soul, which in sense is a junction to it. The soul can somewhat synthesize the reaction-inducing agent into existence: it's sort of like a catalyst in a way whose structure depends on one's own intelligence and alchemical knowledge. With that in mind, no pun intended, the next principle- deconstruction can occur. Here's where it gets trickier. Apparently the chemical bonds aren't the only things broken in the deconstruction process," he stated plainly.

"Here's also where the transmutation circle comes in. It's apparently a medium for the transfer of negatives and positives. When deconstruction occurs, negatives are transferred from the earth to the alchemical circle. This energy is used alongside the catalyst to destabilize the chemical bonds in the iron's metal lattice and break it apart into singular excited iron atoms. That's where deconstruction should end according to our knowledge. That is however incorrect, according to the tome which states that there is another process in action,"

"There is a second sub-step involved: dematerialization. The iron atoms are broken apart into sub-atomic particles like protons, neutrons and electrons- again by excitation- then broken apart repeatedly into even more elementary particles until completion is such that complete dematerialization happens and we are left with pure energy. The ancients called this the mass-energy equivalence. At this point of the transmutation process, we are left with a great depletion of negatives. Here's when reconstruction must occur so as to stabilize both systems,"

"In reconstruction of a perfect alchemical transmutation, the process occurs in reverse quite literally. Now the second function of the catalyst- or the function of a different catalyst- comes into play. The catalyst stabilizes the alchemical energy back into its massive constitutents. For stabilization, energy must be released so that excitation decreases to a point where materialization can occur. Each time energy is released as negatives- travelling back to the earthen resource to restore equilibrium. So you have a conversion system in which alchemical energy is transduced into sub-sub-atomics, then sub-atomics, then finally back into iron atoms and a restored iron metallic lattice. In this way, energy is conserved in both systems and the equilibrium of energy within the earthen resource is also sustained. That is, in short, the perfect alchemical transmutation," he wheezed, aware that his long-winded exchange was impaling him with a lack of breath.

Roy's lips twitched as he struggled to assimilate all this newfound data, "Some of this concepts seem far too advanced to be spoken by ancient civilizations over a millennium ago, Fullmetal. I don't think our current scientists have uncovered half of these so-called discoveries, foregoing the fact that a lot of these theories can't be proven by our own technology let alone that of a millennium-past civilization," he snorted defiantly. "And what exactly is the point of this perfect alchemical exchange? It fails to mention at all how this new-fangled equivalence of energy principle is conserved when transmutations involve forming projectiles and substances with weaker or stronger chemical arrangements,"

Edward harrumphed, "If you'd let me finish I could tell you idiot Colonel,"

"Brigadier General," he amended exasperatedly.

"What-ever," Fullmetal replied with a greater deal more. There was a turbulent pause as the two men dwelled into both their psyches, garnering data from pasts unforgotten in preparation for two unalike motives. The third was unperceived in thought, unobservable even though she lied within their immediate domain.

He recommenced his oration, "As you rightly said," he gritted his teeth ostentatiously, Roy chose to ignore the grinding noise. "Most of our normal alchemical transmutations involve either changing the arrangement of the material we started with or changing its kinetic energy dimension- such as when projectiles are launched, in the simplest case,"

"This involves an extension of the reconstruction process in which the catalyst must be more finely tuned so as to deliver precise amounts of de-excitations that allow for the target structure to be materialized. For example, if we want to convert graphite to diamond: the catalyst will have to de-excite the carbon atoms to such a state that, instead of the original honeycomb graphite lattice to be formed, the more stronger tetrahedral diamond lattice will be created- actually releasing more energy due to the stabilization principle. In this way, there is a surplus of negatives. But equilibrium must be still maintained, so some of the energy is transferred as kinetic energy within the diamond and the rest may be regulated as positives in the soul itself. That is of course, an assumption. The writings in the tome say that it is unclear what happens when the soul's involvement is increased. Of course, the opposite process may occur in which you're trying to convert a material into a weaker allotrope. In this case, we have a shortfall of negatives. Here's where the purpose of the positives becomes more significant. Apparently the tome states that the alchemical flow of negatives and positives is reversed in this stage due to the natural law of equilibrium. Where there is a decrease in the side of an equation, the vector of transference changes such that it tries to re-invoke the same equilibrium. Here positives are transferred from the soul, mediated by the transmutation circle, and are transferred as negatives back to the Earth. This means that you're using up some of your soul's energy to supply the transmutation. The same phenomenon occurs when you change the momentum of your material, the soul is used as an energy reserve,"

"However this is not the soul exchange which alchemists of today currently think of. The ancients stated that the soul is an indestructible construct that is infinite in its energetic constitution. We don't exactly think of a soul as infinite, but the calculations in the tome show that a soul cannot be extinguished. An obvious issue lies with the manifestation of Philosopher's stones: we would think that souls are used up when alchemists circumvent the equivalent exchange principle. That is false. Apparently, a philosopher's stone does not make full use of the potential of the soul, in fact it can't even contain its entirety- just a fraction of its essence. In the tome's writings, the ancients used various methods of study to explore the nature of the soul. Eventually- using mathematics, physics, chemistry, alchemy and biology- they composed a new field for the study of souls: calling it spiritual mechanics- or soul mechanics. They determined that the soul, while it is an elementary substance, is actually a compound essence. Each essence is a particular function that allows for the transfer and storage of energy. The philosopher's stone, for example, entraps only the life essence. It is the amount of energy contained by the soul to allow for its existence in the physical plane- since the soul doesn't naturally belong in our plane as we know it- but the spiritual one, which is unknown to us. Apparently, the life essence is equal in every human being. It is an upper limit of energy that is used up at a particular rate, called the inter-plane work function, which symbolizes the amount of years available for a soul to inhabit the physical plane. However, it is almost certain that either the mind or the body expires before the work function is completed- which is why no one has managed to figure out its limit- it may be a thousand years, ten thousand, a million, or even such that it is countably infinite. But it raises an interesting question of what happens to the soul when the body is decomposed. Apparently, the soul acts as a junction between the mind and the body and cannot exist if either is non-existent. That's why people die of natural ailments, and yet the soul lives on uncorrupted. However, in a Philosopher's stone the soul is tethered to the stone by its life essence. When its life essence is diminished- the soul can pass to the spiritual realm, however it cannot be said to be unharmed even though it is immortal,"

He took a hefty breather, licking his lips to supplant the feverish dryness in his mouth from the loss of saliva and moisture due to exorbitant talking. But he had to continue, to relent till the last bombshell was dropped.

"Aside from the life essence, there is another function of the soul. The ancients name it differently according to the context it's mentioned in: The Power of One, the Alchemical Force, the Divine Element, the Spiritual Dominion…all terms that relate in a sense to power and energy. The Power of One is a function that holds a literally infinite pool of energy. It is why the soul is indestructible. It sustains the junction between the body and the mind while in the physical realm. It allows for the transfer of information that allows the soul to be imprinted with all the mental and physical attributes of the individual it belongs to. It is what allows certain humans to be able to do alchemy, and I say certain because it is a limiting factor as well. Apparently, when the soul inhabits the physical realm, a restriction is placed upon it called the condensation-power function. This literally is the amount of energy that can be delivered at a time to allow for alchemical exchange. It is determined by the soul's inherent nature, its junction strength to the body and the mind, the mental and physical acuity of the person itself, the genetic structure of the person and a whole load of other factors that the ancients have not been able to limit or identify. There is still a great deal that is unknown as to what allows persons to be alchemists. The condensation-power function determines the magnitude of polarity of the soul itself. A more charged soul will allow for better performance of transmutations. Of course a person would not be able to perform alchemy without the information as how to do so. There is the information that we humans can learn from others, and the information that is only spiritually present within us. The ancients call this the Gate of Truth," He ceased his sermon at this point.

Mustang found himself dazed, but he concealed as it best he could- unknowing of whether it visibly appeared on his face. He motioned Edward to continue- unfailing to disregard his previous assertion.

"The Gate of Truth is information registered within the soul that is standard fare. In truth, any person is able to perform alchemy since the elementary information to do so is inscribed within the soul. Unless of course you sacrifice it…as I did," he hesitated for a moment of convalescence and resumed, "Ignoring that, every person can perform alchemy. And anyone can learn how to perform alchemy in the physical realm using the knowledge provided to them, their mental ability and the transmutation circle- the heart of alchemy. The mental ability is, of course, a lesser deciding factor of whether you can perform alchemy and a greater one of the extent of it you can do. Basically the condensation-power function is what limits most people at the end to being unable to perform alchemy. Sometimes the person may be prodigally intelligent but unable to perform because of various other factors. For whatever reason, if the person's soul's condensation-power function isn't high enough so as to establish a great enough polarity as to establish a transference of negatives and positives- and consequently the alchemical transmutation…the person will not be able to be an alchemist. On a side note, I've developed a hypothesis as to why we, as prior human sacrifices, were able to use alchemy without external transmutation circles. Apparently Truth inscribed within our souls the information as how to use our own bodies as transmutation circles. I have confirmed this with the theorizations and applications of the tome,"

Mustang said nothing, he felt as if he should interrupt- yet his throat failed to throb at all.

Edward relented, "Look Mustang, I really don't want to talk anymore on this. I'm tired, I have to get back to Resembool- and I really don't want to spend any more time with you," It incited no reaction in the Brigadier General. The seriousness of the matter didn't call for harmless jabs or acts of juvenility anymore. Fullmetal's expounded monologue was about to come to a close, which meant that the tipping iceberg of the ocean was about to make the final curtain call.

He sighed, "All the details are in my annotations of that tome. It's in much greater detail so it should keep Hawkeye and you busy for a while," he wavered for a moment, pondering on whether the crucial bit should be mentioned- knowing that it would only further the squalor of his time. He resigned himself, "There is a ruin mentioned. The tome says that it was originally written in a township atop a mountain in one of the northern islands. North somewhere around Aesnor or one of the north-western kingdoms. The tome mentions that the knowledge within that one township could pass information as to how to alchemize without the restrictions of the Principle of Natural Providence, or even the Principle of Equivalent Exchange. There was a piece about an ancient alchemist named Gwendolfr who used ancient alchemy to transmute gold from silver, silver from iron, and iron from carbon. Now I don't know about you Colonel, but that sounds pretty interesting to investigate, doesn't it?" he queried artfully.

Mustang chuckled, "That would just about make you the richest man in all of Amestris, and possibly a dead one as well. Its taboo to transmute gold you know, Fullmetal,"

Edward grinned, "Sure, but I don't think that would stop you. You're already figuring how to reel this into your political ambitions aren't you, you sneaky bastard?"

"Language, Fullmetal," he chided absent-mindedly. He massaged the back of his hand slowly as a method of dithering for thought when he plastered a devious smirk on his mien. He would have made Niccolò Machiavelli proud.

"But you're right about one thing. I am definitely intrigued by the possibilities of this unchartered discovery. No doubt that it can be made to good use," he mused shortly before popping a critical question, "Would you say that you would vouch for this new find's credibility, Fullmetal?"

Edward shrugged, "A lot of the concepts have been unexplored and are too strange to consider amongst even the most open-minded alchemists. However my instinct tell me to trust it. The findings were written by intelligent men who seemed more versed in alchemy than the both of us. Anyway, I can't imagine the type of idiot who would mush in so much effort for a hoax. After all, they did try really hard to keep it hidden. That I can confirm wholly," he grimaced gruffly.

"Then I shall keep my trust with your judgement. I have no doubt then that this find will continue to show value if we chase after its leads diligently," he declared, weaving his hands together as a gesticulation of a plan brought to fruition. "That ruin mentioned in the tome. Wouldn't you say that you're keen to explore that?" he asked sweetly.

He could feel the prickling intensity of Fullmetal's narrowed gaze- no doubt with a greater than warranted cause for suspicion. "Exploring that ruin Colonel? As being part of a military expedition? As in having me signed back into the military?" he gritted testily.

He let on no chance for response, "No way in hell Mustang. I only became a dog of the military to get my brother's body and my own limbs back. I have no wish to stroll back here anymore after all Al and I have been through. We promised each other that we would resign from the military when our goal was completed," he flared in utmost defiance.

The Brigadier General couldn't help but supress a tickled chuckle at his protégée's belligerent rebuff. Even if it posed contrary to his own ends, the boy's strong-wilfulness and almost dogged abstinence to his pledges guaranteed him a striking sense of nobility that was uncommonly rare within the most magnanimous of his people. To others, his tenacity routinely guised to be stubborn, inflexible and quite frankly childish to a reach. Yet Roy did not to dwell much on the symbolism behind his feasibly miscalculated drive of honour. His asceticism served the mantle which he was delivered rightly by, though ironically it was sealed to him by the wrath of an ill-intended agency. It was shackled to him by his obstinacy- as would the norm hold him by- yet the allegory was starkly dissimilar in truth, as truth was reified by its contrary. Fullmetal's childish whims, in the penultimate decree, was a device sought after by a few, many and all. It was called upon to be childish solely because it had been bereaved to them. Ransacked and thieved by the festering innocence of adulthood- that quite too easily drafted its heavy stifling grasp across childhood's conflagrant but fleeting candle. Out, out, brief candle!

"What if I told you that you wouldn't be working under the military?" he inquired smoothly, stroking the sides of his chin in due await for his response.

"Keep going," he replied darkly, his tone clearly hinting towards the appraisal for the Brigadier's next words.

Mustang shrugged, "I have been appointed as an interim Minister of Foreign Relations and Internal Affairs for my efforts in the Ishvalan effort and the Xing trade agreement. The Fuhrer thought it would be best to validate my position according to a governmental standard so that it would bode well with diplomats of other nations. In line with my appointed position, I can elect military officials- active or resigned- to posts that abet any effort to my duties. Henceforward, I now appoint you, former Major Edward Elric, as an Envoy-Elect to the Amestrian parliamentary republic,"

Edward kept his tongue still for an elongated duration- then finally spoke- rather ominously, "I didn't realize that the Fuhrër was still electing military officials to political office. I thought he damn well promised to reinstate the power of the Amestrian Parliament…"

Roy held up a hand in an attempt of interrupt, "You have as much right to be angry as I do, Fullmetal. Grumman did promise to reinstate the legislative abilities of the Federal Council and the House of Representatives," he sighed and rubbed his forehead coarsely. "But it's a turbulent time in Amestris, even now. It's been only two years since the crisis which could have possibly destroyed our nation and the death of the King Bradley. People are still untrusting of the government and unwilling to accept any policies we put forth at this stage. Grumman said that it would not be wise to issue an immediate shift in governmental policy, and I was inclined to agree with him- even though the rat said it to hold on to his own power," he snorted irately.

"Whatever the cause- and our feelings in the matter, it seems only prudent that we stay our authoritarian regime as of the present. Don't forget the regional offices are still competing against each other. I shudder to think what will happen if we instate the parliament while they are still in power. And don't forget, even if the lower and upper house still have limited power in their ability to affect the nations' affairs- their proposals are not being stayed on deaf ears any longer. Grumman and the rest of his military lackeys are paying heed to their suggestions. We will just have to wait it out a little longer,"

Ed flared, "What the hell do you mean by just waiting it out? You know what happened the last time we had a martial regime. What good will it do if the Amestrian people lack the basic rights to vote and amend their own situations for the better. You said it yourself in your speech of all your grand ideals- 'I'll rise to the top and protect those closest to me- and they in turn will protect those closest to them until every subordinate has their own to take care of and every citizen knows the feeling of protection and liberty that their nation gives them'," he mimicked with unsuppressed castigation.

"The Amestrian people aren't fools. They won't trust a government that binds itself to the policies of a corrupt administration. They know now that the parliament was a façade- of who really pulled the strings behind every one of their moves. How are you supposed to gain their trust if you stick with the very thing they've grown to despise?"

Roy had had enough of the youth's eruption, "Shut it Fullmetal! You don't think that I know that we're doing the people a grave injustice by maintaining the authoritarian regime? You don't think that I know that we're deceiving them because we're not keeping up the pledge we've promised them? Of course I do! But we can't just barge in right away and change things like you could with a clap of alchemy. This is government, this is a nation of people who could potentially suffer with one wrong decision. I put all my efforts into dissolving the current government and to granting the people their civil liberties- but it won't happen until the nation is stable enough to embrace these changes. Imagine what would happen if we would suddenly declare a new governmental system overnight. Chaos! People wouldn't know what to think. Politicians would quickly go corrupt and the regional offices would only squabble harder- creating even more unrest. The people would hate us even more,"

"This is why we're taking things slow, Fullmetal. It's not because we're a corrupt government that wants to hold the people by their throats- it's simply because we can't afford to lose face of the greater issues. We have to keep up a brave stance so that our people don't lose faith in us. So that there is morale among the ranks. Yes they might not like us or trust us for it. And yes they might feel cheated. But at least they wouldn't be frightened of a situation that could only spell harm to them. If a government loses control over the nation, it is even worse than if the same government is a stable totalitarian dictatorship. If there is no control, there is anarchy. And that is the very last thing our country needs to heal its wounds and forget its scars. So Fullmetal, I will continue in my efforts to fight for the civil liberties of the people and the dissolution of the government, but I will not storm ahead as if I am a battle-hardened veteran. This is politics, not war. But one wrong step in politics and you will have war. Of that, you can be very well assured of,"

His enraged tirade mellowed down- yet still energetic enough to rise above the cool airy breeze. He fumed, but quietly, knowing that he shouldn't have exploded in such a violent outburst- but Fullmetal had struck a raw nerve unfortunately for the both of them.

"I'm sorry Brigadier General. You're right. I shouldn't have questioned your principles like that," he apologised- civilly at that.

Mustang couldn't help but crinkle an eyebrow. This was completely out of character. For a moment, he was unsure of how to respond.

"Ah…thank you Fullmetal. That was…umm…big of you to…" he commenced uncomfortably. Realizing the feebleness of his response, he switched tactics: "You know what Fullmetal? That was completely unexpected. When the hell did you learn to suck up your pride and be the bigger man?" he grinned genially.

"Pride was my vice after all," he shrugged nonchalantly. He elaborated nothing further in response- he didn't feel as he had to. Mustang could follow the rails of own his train of thought quite effortlessly, for he had endeavoured a parallel road that taught him of his own blurred command of vices and virtues; and he had sidestepped the baleful descent to perdition.

"I see," he replied in similar. "It doesn't matter anyway. Both of us were on edge anyway, so we can hardly be taken accountable for our actions," he countered dismissingly. "On a previous note, do you accept your appointment, Envoy-Elect?" he queried with a knowing leer.

Edward grunted- though with a slight measure of resignation. "And what exactly are my responsibilities as this envoy of yours?" he asked irritably.

"You are fundamentally an ambassador- though with far lesser power," he added helpfully. "Your duties as an Envoy-Elect will have you sent on assignments to other nations for a purely investigative purpose. Don't worry Fullmetal, you will not have to mingle with diplomats or anything that unsuited to your lack of panache," he stated tauntingly.

He merely emitted a gruff grunt- refusing to be dragged back into the bastard's jabs. "So basically, you'll send me on assignments to distant countries, for who knows how long, to gather research on alchemy as something not much more than a glorified research dog. It's just like being a State Alchemist without the peacetime efforts and with lesser pay," he snorted disdainfully.

Mustang cocked an eyebrow at this reference, "It's an official non-military position Fullmetal. It's more of a scholarly rank of consul then anything tasked with government or wartime doings. I thought it would be particular suited to you, considering that you are studying alchemy," he added matter-of-factly. "Besides, you are currently unemployed, are you not? It's not as if you have any current prospects or are routinely looking for jobs. The pay will do you good, considering that you have no source of income anymore," once again stated in his irascibly pragmatic tone.

The sound of Fullmetal gritting his teeth once again reverberated. "My lack of pay was your doing anyway Colonel. You probably were prepping for this outcome from the beginning,"

"Come on Fullmetal," he chastened with a wide grin. "You're only eighteen- far too young to live off the retirement half-pay of a Major's salary. Anyway you wouldn't have accepted it even if the offer still stood. You're far too unsettled to live a life of retired stagnation anyway. You can consider it a favour," he declared with cool arrogance.

"This would be a good opportunity for you. And the pay is not bad either. Not as good as a Major's salary- but pretty close in my judgement. Plus, I'll reinstate some of your alchemical research privileges- not with unlimited state funding of course- but within a reasonable figure that will more or less compensate for any surmountable financial difficulties during your assignments,"

With that in mind, he brushed his hands across his desk and rummaged through the central compartment for an item that was critical to signing off the deal in question. Locating it, he stripped off a slip from the fastened whole and scrawled an untidy signature in the lower right corner- a difficult feat to his condition. He motioned to Hawkeye, "Captain, write the recipient as myself and scribe an amount of one hundred thousand cenz paid admissible to Envoy-Elect Edward Elric. See that all other supplementary details are in order,"

With unhindered efficiency, she carried out the menial task with a few quick etchings of her pen and handed it in promptly to her superior.

"Thank you Hawkeye," he smiled graciously. Tapping his attention back to Edward Elric- he cleared his throat authoritatively, situating the inside of his palm facing upwards- to display the cheque in clear sight of his reinstituted ward, "To sweeten up the deal, I have here an advance bursary of a month's salary redeemable at any military command post with an accountant's holding. Once the formalities are in order, I will delegate any meritable assignments to you a week in advance from your time of departure. Let's hope that your first job will involve your most recent findings,"

Mustang couldn't appraise the youth's reaction. He had ensued to be silent- indubitably evaluating with serious consideration the offer granted at hand. He didn't think that the lad would reject his generous affair, but he was developing impatience with his indecisiveness in the matter. Just as he was about to flash a retort, it was made apparent to him that the hefty, paper-thin sum of monetary value was no longer extant on the surface of his palm.

"This is only temporary, Colonel," he muttered indignantly. Mustang discerned the sound- of what he presumed to be the crumple of paper- before a click of heels on the floorboard followed suit, ensued by a periodic set of clackety clanks, divided by intervals common to a lenient pace.

"Brigadier General," he whined- not at all amused by his unrelenting perseverance to downtrod his elevated ranking.

"Yeah-yeah. Whatever you say idiot Colonel. I hope I don't see you around anytime soon." he stated coolly. "See you later Riza," he added warmly, before the consecutive creaks of a doorknob- intermitted by the swish and muted slam of a door- resounded as an off-key intermission.

Mustang looked pleased, "That went far better than I expected. He did seem a lit bit lacklustre though. You, on the other hand, Captain- were far too quiet. Something troubling you?" he quizzed, trying to downplay his evident concern.

"No Brigadier General," she paused before appending, "It just amazes me of how much of the world we are yet still to discover. After the homunculi, I thought nothing would surprise me," she admitted.

Mustang chuckled at her honest response, "The more you know about the world, the more you discover of how ignorant and ill-informed we really are. But that's not a cause for concern. It just shows us puny humans' potential for unlimited growth,"

Hawkeye considered this vantage point before bringing to the frontier what was ogling her internal devices. "You know Brigadier General, with Edward's progress on alchemy in the west and his brother's work in the east…it won't be much longer until we find a solution for…"

Roy stilled her words immediately, slicing her sentiments blunt with an acrid edge. "We are not discussing this Captain. I am not going to get my hopes brought up by any so-called promising efforts. The philosopher stone itself failed miserably. I can't see much else that can be done," he avowed bitterly.

He rammed both fists on his desk- the virulent trembling of the pieces lying on its surface only further adding to his sensations of despair and resentment. The crippling glare of the dusky blindfold drawn on his eyes was only constricting further- gnawing deeper into the feeble remnants of his now so-treasured orbs whose function now proved redundant and futile when combatted against the white-hot capriciousness of that bastard Truth. He despised it, how he utterly loathed this feeling of incapacity; as if he were sprawled naked to the pleasure of all the world but yet was still unable to draw upon his own mortification for he was unable to grasp the concept any longer…for he feared that he would be bared to not even play sentry as his final remnants of the visual world unthreaded and disseminated into the same tarry pits of the gated void- and his own eyeballs would eventually grow into festering wounds that would remind him day in and day out and day in and day out that the opportunity for recuperation had long since been lost and at that juncture he would readily…

He was relegated back to the fleeting momentariness of reality- cutting off his ramble of present desperation that he would have thought as incredibly futile if he had had the opportunity to consider it. A warm, soft hand lay grazed over his own fist, relenting to squeeze it in an attempt of self-assurance. He looked up, even if he couldn't, but yet he knew that she stood there watching him with a tender expression.

"Don't Roy. Don't give up yet. It's not like you to give up for anything. You said it yourself right, we mustn't lose face," she expressed unhesitatingly, though with a soft, larger than trace of empathy.

She bit back her lip, "There are a lot of people out there counting on you. A lot of people who believe in your ideals and want to see you up on the Fuhrër's chair changing Amestris for the better. There are many who will do all that they can to see your eyesight restored- myself especially. If you don't want to keep face for yourself, then at least do it for the people who believe in your future,"

Roy heard her words, but distantly. "And what of what you once said Captain? Of whether it was alright for one to believe in a future that everyone can live in happiness?" his voice rang bitterly.

"It's an idealistic sentiment," she commenced quietly after an elongated pause. "For one to believe in a world in which everyone can live with each other in harmony and in perfect content. Maybe it cannot be achieved. Maybe just considering it is a mark for self-delusion. But if we fail to even have faith in such an untainted ideal…if we lack the heart to even think that us puny humans can even believe in a future of maybes and what ifs- then why would we consider living if we cannot dream?"

Roy couldn't fathom a retort to a query of such earnestness and humanity. He could only marvel at how others could continually gather hope from the gloomiest of corners. And well, if they could do it- what sort of visionary was he if he couldn't?

He loosened his fist and caught her palm in his- squeezing ever so gently. He was glad that he couldn't see her expression. Or maybe he would have actually liked to. He had decided it presently: he would keep face- for all the people out there who could do it for him. He would be a testament to their faith.

He chuckled feebly, his eyes growing moist- he thought that he must have looked quite a sight: the fearless Brigadier General sobbing like a plaintive schoolboy.

"Thank you Riza. I needed that…for such a long time,"


End file.
